


Will Terribly, If You Will At All

by Payasita



Series: Royal Nonsense [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: All romances are secondary for the most part, Angst with a Happy Ending, Changing POVs, Chess, Language of Flowers, Letters, Multi, a whodunnit but about a spurned moth goddess, absolutely unhinged little baby hornet, but liberties are being taken with them, but mostly just the royal family of hallownest trying to get their shit together, canon typical pronouns for vessels, court life, i do not forgive either pk nor the white lady, in theory, knight training, more character tags to come, there is a slow switch from 'it' to 'they', this is steadily becoming a mess to tag, thk slowly learning how to be a person, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Payasita/pseuds/Payasita
Summary: " 'Many who had fallen comatose with the infection are waking up, seeming healthy and whole.'The king dismissed the courier, and began the process of ordering further studies."Some unknown force has resulted in the disappearance of the Radiance, just before the infection could reach its peak under the Pale King's rule. The mystery soon takes a back-burner to a rearranged custody agreement over Herrah's brood, some clumsy attempts to re-establish marital trust, and some long overdue re-evaluations of the Pure Vessel. The king will send his newly unusable creation to train under the Great Knights, and become their sixth.Court intrigue, sibling bonding, goddess hunting, different brands of motherhood, and accidental arson are abound.
Relationships: The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Series: Royal Nonsense [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901320
Comments: 517
Kudos: 751





	1. Neuschwanstein

**Author's Note:**

> hi, old monarchies and court life were a special interest of mine when i was a kid so this is me indulging in that again while unpacking my current favorite game with a what-if-murder-mystery sprinkled in there. 
> 
> i also get to be pretentious with the language because of this and no one gets to stop my fun

It was a long journey from the Fog Canyon to the White Palace, where it stood in the belly of the city. Most couriers did have the advantage of flight, as it had become necessary back when the the kingdom was expanding and buildings grew taller. Now, of course, growth had been indefinitely stagnated while the city focused its efforts on warding off the infection; a quarantine order was recently placed that effectively emptied the crossroads, and slowed trade and production to a crawl.

This would not help them in any way, the Pale King knew. The people of Hallownest had deemed the plague a germ of some sort, and the idea that they had some little means of control over their own protection offered them comfort. The king was not willing to quash their hopes with the truth. Mass panic crippling the kingdom would be rather antithetical to his entire plan.

He thought of the Dreamers, of the Pure Vessel and its creation, and of the child he'd sired to the Queen of spiders, who by now was old enough to begin her studies. All things considered, a lie by omission was a laughably small sin to commit in the name of preserving his kingdom. No cost too great.

The king sat up to attention just before Monomon's messenger entered the throne room. He'd foreseen their arrival, and that whatever it was they had for him would demand his full attention. The young bug knelt, acid-written letter in hand, and spoke of new findings from the archive, and news directly from the Teacher. The king took the tube, and read its contents. And then read them again. The third time, his eyes simply stayed put on one sentence, which summarized all the data and observation the message entailed. 

"Many who had fallen comatose with the infection are waking up, seeming healthy and whole."

The king dismissed the courier, and began the process of ordering further studies.

-

Weeks past, and the king watched, pouring through studies and statistics one after the other, as the miracle to end all miracles continued at a steady pace. People who had fallen asleep with the infection were waking up, a bit dazed, but alive and of sound mind. Those who had progressed too far were still dying, but would remain dead once there. Additionally, no new cases were being recorded. The kingdom breathed relief as those who’d been thought lost now joyously reunited with their loved ones, though the king was too cautious yet to resume travel and trade for the city. 

The king was fielding letters and meetings left and right with the Dreamers, who were varying degrees of uncertain and desperate to know what would become of them. Lurien assured the king of his faith, unwavering in his resolve to sacrifice himself should the infection not die out completely. Herrah had begun to bargain. The spell that would bind them was nearly complete, but she was unwilling to be torn from her people and daughter yet if circumstances weren't as desperate as the king swore they had been. Monomon remained diligent in her research, offering her findings, and agreeing that they ought to wait and observe, though she was more blatantly optimistic. 

And then there was the Pure Vessel, who stood still, perfect, and empty as a porcelain vase at the Pale King's side. He foresaw that it had one more molt yet before it'd reach prime form, though it had long since surpassed him in height. What was he to do with it, should the infection defy all expectations and fade away? 

The Wyrm had long since excised the idea from his mind that it was a child of him and his Lady.

(If he ignored that he wanted no heir, maybe it would have truly been his, in another life. A little pale princeling who inherited his mind for mechanics. Perhaps inherited their mother's laugh. )

The dread sea under the world had thoroughly done its work, rendering thousands of eggs both inert and still viable at the same time with the leeching of their very souls. No, this was no child. It was an animate container, a tragic product of necessity. And he treated it as such, watched it grow and act with perfect, unthinking obedience, reminding it over and over again of the importance of its existence as the Pure Vessel, so that the order may never leave it for all of the eternity it’d spend imprisoned. His Lady did fuss with it as though it were a normal grub, in the early years. It would never act on any affections directed at it as far as he saw, so he decided there was no harm in it. 

(It turned out her doting had only been harmless for the vessel. The Lady, however, gave up on the fantasy of motherhood slowly and painfully as she watched her hatchling never make a single move to return her affections, or even acknowledge her existence. He comforted her, as best he could, for he saw the regret and shame of their actions would drive her to leave him one day, to lock herself away in her garden. Though she officially remains at his side, the knowledge has caused a rift between them that he had never been able to address. He couldn't bring himself to, with everything going on. She spends more and more time in her gardens, lately, forgoing her duties as queen, and only returning to the palace for social calls. There are few of those for her now.)

The Pure Vessel was looking at him. Awaiting orders. The Pale King only then realized he had been staring at it. 

For now, they'd all wait on the original deal. Far, far too much had been sunk into it to begin planning for another outcome yet.

About a week later, he received a letter from Herrah. It appeared that she was so confident she'd have the rest of her life again, that she wanted to discuss custody arrangements of their daughter. Care for the gendered child had been left entirely to Herrah while she lived, to make the most of what little time she would have with her. Things could be different now, if the infection continued to fade. 

Though they both agreed the child would be no royal of Hallownest, Herrah stated in her letter that she wanted their daughter to know the other side of her heritage. She argued the knowledge of both cultures may prevent her from growing up feeling too out of place, looking so different from the other spiders. 

The king was actually _scandalized_ at the idea of a (real) child running around his palace for a moment, but then found himself... considering it. 

And then he immediately snapped himself back to reality, standing and leaving the spider-silk letter on his desk with a huff. And the _reality_ was that the infection was _not_ yet over. Things were improving, yes, but it was foolish and outright dangerous to act as though everything was already solved. The Dreamers knew better than anyone what powerful, world-ending forces they were really dealing with, they ought to know better than to grow complacent. 

And, infuriatingly, everyone but Monomon seemed to be ignoring an incredibly important and ominous factor. No one had any idea _why _the infection was slowing. So it fell to the King to throw himself into the research.__

____

____

And he did so, continuing long after the last bug that had taken to sleep with orange cysts woke up with clear eyes. 

-

The White Lady got the sense that the Pale King disliked visiting her gardens. They were beautiful, and it wasn't like she'd barred him, nor even expressed any distaste for his presence. (Couldn't, despite it all.) 

But she long since deduced that her Wyrm simply felt as though he were trespassing. The garden had been her initiative, tailored to her liking and aesthetic preference as the White Palace was to his. And her's was a beautiful, intricate, and perhaps rather busy wonderland of flora of all colors, sizes, and breeds. Gazebos and greenhouses taken to vines and shaded under wisteria were a far cry from the bright-white manicured architecture of their home. 

He would, of course, never admit to such feelings. They were silly; he was king, after all, and all the land in Hallownest was rightfully his. She never pushed the subject, and would invite him along as often as she could in years past. 

(Not so much, now. She would come alone, and he would grant her space.)

(He granted her plenty of space, these days.) 

And so it was a surprise, one day, to see him arrive and seek her out. She had been standing before a wild grove, pondering the logistics of adding a garden maze. The King had no guards in tow, but her own were waiting by the garden's stag station. She would not show any anxiety over whatever news he had that would necessitate him coming alone to see her directly. The White Lady hesitated only for a moment, then dipped her head in greeting. 

"My Wyrm. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He seemed hesitant. Though any shedding of his stiff royal appearance had once been a reprieve, it now didn't feel like a good sign. 

"A visit, only. Nothing official." 

She could not hide her surprise. He didn't remark on it, looking out at the grove by her side. 

"It's lovely." 

The queen tamped down her amusement. 

"It's wild land. I was considering a project for it. A garden maze, perhaps." 

"...Ah." 

__They stood in silence for another moment. Amazingly, he was the first to speak again._ _

__"I never had an eye for horticulture. But I am certain whatever my Lady orchestrates here will be a wonder of it."_ _

__Logically, the queen knew the proper thing would be to graciously thank her king for the compliment._ _

__"It has been an age since my Wyrm deigned it necessary to cushion an important conversation with flattery," she said instead. The king stiffened. The queen found herself once again having to keep down a smile._ _

__"...Her majesty has always been perceptive," he nearly sighed._ _

__"Perception isn't necessary, when one knows how their king dislikes going out of his way. What troubles you, really? News from the castle? The Dreamers?"_ _

__The White Lady knew of the slowing infection, of course. And she was not nearly as willing as he, to pretend that the idea of their actions being all for naught didn't rip her heart to shreds._ _

__The king took a breath, barely perceptible but for the subtle change in his glow._ _

__"There is no denying the evidence. The infection is gone, and our people are saved, even if by means unknown."_ _

__He spoke so grimly of such good news. So maybe, he wouldn't pretend. Not around her._ _

__They stood in silence again, for another few moments. Wild or not, she supposed the grove really was beautiful, in its way. Loodles could be seen hopping between trees, in and out of tall grass._ _

__"Herrah sent me a letter," the king eventually began, "regarding ou--the heir to Deepnest."_ _

__The gendered child, then. The Lady hadn't seen her in ages. The implications of the Dreamers being unbound from their duties weren't lost on her, and she would freely admit to feeling a sort of envious relief for Herrah._ _

__"Is she well?"_ _

__"Hale and sharp, according to her mother. The Beast...would like to discuss co-parenting. To let the child know all of her heritage, and perhaps allow her to receive her education in the city."_ _

__That caught her attention. "Herrah said that?"_ _

__"Of the co-parenting. She did not bring up schooling, though I believe the child may find better learning opportunities here. Especially if she's going to be sent to the Hive for combat training, either way."_ _

__The Lady hummed, thinking. "I do not know that there'd be much luck in convincing Herrah to allow her child an education here. Foreign tutors won't prepare her to adequately rule her own land."_ _

__"It'd be more beneficial for her. I foresee that Hallownest will soon flourish in the arts and sciences. In addition, schooling her here and teaching her the workings of our kingdom could promise good relations between our lands long-term, when she eventually takes her mother’s throne."_ _

__"This sounds a discussion better suited for yourself and the Beast."_ _

__The king openly grimaced. The White Lady did let out a giggle, this time._ _

__"Come now, the Queen of Deepnest is a fine ally," She soothed._ _

__"Only so long as she remains unoffended. Do you recall how her venom melted our dining room centerpiece?"_ _

__"She thought it tacky, I believe."_ _

__"And _I_ think storing one's vestments in web casings unhygienic, but I keep my opinions within my _own_ court," the king huffed. _ _

__It was honestly strange, how the tension between them could still break so easily. Her Wyrm was always so easily riled, when one was brave enough to prod him. His next words were laced with hesitance, or steeled nerves._ _

__"... Would you... be agreeable to that? To the child being partially raised in our palace?"_ _

__The Lady had already thought about this, and dipped her head without reservation. "The gendered child deserves the full breadth of experience and privilege that comes with her heritage. The castle may be a second home, away from her true home."_ _

__"I--Yes, you're right. But..." But? "It is not only your understanding of her presence I request. It's..."_ _

__The Lady watched him, mutely, not truly believing what she knows she'll hear. It takes him a few seconds to collect his request._ _

__"I am not fit to raise a child on my own. If she is to spend half her time away from her mother, she should--she should be able to expect... security, in her substitutes, security I am not sure I can provide without aid."_ _

__The Lady stared. Neither of them could fully make sense of what he just said._ _

__"...Is this your way of asking me to act as another parent to the girl, at your side?" She asks, patient._ _

__"...Yes. If...If you would desire to do so, and only if. I understand she is not of Root, and I--"_ _

__She held up her hand, and he fell silent._ _

__"My Wyrm. I already hold affection for the Beast's brood, and I can truly say that nothing would make me happier than to spoil the adorable little creature alongside her parents."_ _

__He began to move towards her, mouth open to respond._ _

__"However," she stopped him, "I am uncertain you understand how deeply I feel our sins within my branches. How much it pains me to return to our castle, some days, as I consider simply binding myself here so I may atone for my complicity in solitude. More so now, as I am forced to face the reality that our brood was stolen away and defiled for no reason."_ _

__"And what of the Pure Vessel?" She continued, finding she could not stop now that she'd begun, "What of your Hollow Knight, who I now have to watch stand at your side, wearing the carapace of our dead child? Will you discard it, or command that it play sibling to the spiderling while she runs and plays around the castle, full of the life it could not have? Are you aware of how either decision would pain me to watch?"_ _

__The king, flickering like a dying lumafly, attempted to cobble together a protest._ _

__"I...am aware we must discuss the vessel. I admit, both options sound..."_ _

__He did not finish the thought, and began another._ _

__"I was...considering sending it away to train. Under the five Great Knights. It is already honed into a fine warrior. Perhaps when it reaches its adult form, it can become the sixth of them. That way, no one would question its appearances in the castle, should anyone outside of our circle catch a glimpse of it."_ _

__They stood in silence again, watching the grove. It was a good plan, logistically. Even if it _had_ been their true child, official knighthood would disinherit it from the throne, as it contradicted any noble title._ _

__"Perhaps that would be best." The Lady eventually conceded. As though she would not defer the final decision to him, either way._ _

__She thought the conversation over, for now, and expected the king to bid her goodbye and return to his palace. Though what transpired between them was not over, and they could, _should_ discuss everything that had been left unsaid over the years, buried under a landmass of little cracked faces, she knew them both to be cowards. Another crime for the collection. _ _

__But she wasn't the one with foresight, and he spoke once more._ _

__"Will you return, then? For the child?"_ _

__The Lady took a moment to blink an errant cloud out of one of her eyes._ _

__"I will. Only for the child, and only as a co-parent. Forgive me, my Wyrm, for you know me to be fatigued with queenship, and seem to be managing splendidly without aid. Just look how the plague of the Old Light perished beneath your divine rule."_ _

__Her tone was sonorous and gentle as ever, and she knew her words stung him all the more for it._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, this is one hundred percent an excuse for me to indulge in the flowery shakesperian bullfuckery the white lady canonically talks in. you KNOW she pulled some byron-esque shit on the noble class. i bet she writes poetry. 
> 
> anyway please feel free to shove me into a locker, please, anyone.


	2. Hardwick Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little princess of Deepnest meets with the rest of her family, and learns lots of new things.

Hornet had tried out her new name over and over in her room, after her first meeting with the queen of the Hive. The queen had been so impressed with her agility and ferocity during her trial week of training, that Hornet had earned a name for herself quickly, so she said. And Hornet wore it with pride, running right back to her mother upon returning home, who then picked her up and tossed her with joy. 

"I knew Vespa’d do you right," Mother had said, nuzzling her mask. "It's nice to meet you, Hornet."

Mother said it would be a long time yet before she'd get to go back to the Hive and be a pupil in earnest, and Hornet couldn't wait. 

And speaking of waiting, Hornet thought she had been doing far too much of that recently, quite frankly. Mother always seemed to have one meeting or another with the Dreamers, or with the king of Hallownest, and then had some important affair in Deepnest as soon as she got back. Hornet was often left in Midwife's care, and of course she'd had that one excursion to the Hive to meet her future mentor, but it all still made her antsy. 

The queen of spiders had always been upfront with her daughter about her future fate. One day, Hornet knew, mother would fall asleep under a magic spell and save the kingdom, becoming a legendary hero to them all, and then Hornet would be queen. Hornet had always thought of it distantly, the way most children think about death when they learn of it. It was something that would pass at some nebulous time after the eternity of the present. 

But now, she was thinking about it more. But she was not _afraid,_ of course, the Princess of Deepnest was very very brave, and not afraid of _anything._ She and mother were the scariest things in the world, after all, and fear didn't apply to them. What could ever be out there that could _possibly_ be scarier than spiders? 

So, she took a proactive approach to her curiosity about current events. As small as she was, she found it easy to sneak around people. She heard conversations, and whispers from all over Deepnest, from the people who talked to her mother. Something about the infection losing its hold on their neighbors in Hallownest, something about plans in the palace. Plans for Hornet herself, even. Clearly, something sinister was afoot.

Unfortunately, she was foiled in her espionage when Midwife caught her snooping in on a conversation between her and a few weavers in her den. Midwife had reared up, and with her long body had no trouble plucking the hissing spiderling from her perch behind a pocket of webbing high on the wall. Neither one was particularly cowed by the other's threat display. 

Chastised, she headed back home. She had caught a few odd words that seemed to be about her mother, something about “custody”. She had no idea what custody was, but her mother might be willing to explain. Hopefully without asking any questions about how she's getting all her information.

Hornet was nearly bowled over by a messenger weaver on the way back. They were in a hurry, and headed straight for Herrah’s den. This was a fantastic opportunity to sneak in on her mother receiving important information! And so she gave chase, only vaguely noting the uproar around her, seemingly all over. The people seemed excited about something, but the child had her mission, and a good hunter stays focused on her prey. 

She hopped and bounded her way up the silk pathways. She hadn’t yet figured out her own silk, though she was certain it’d click any day now. Her mother would insist that it came naturally with patience and practice, but Hornet wanted to get on with it already, so she wouldn’t _have_ to be patient anymore, and could just fly around everywhere with her needle. Let’s see anyone catch her _then._

But as it currently was, she arrived home a bit too slowly, and missed the messenger leaving. Still, she snuck in, keeping low along the walls and taking care not to peer too obviously around the entrance of her mother’s quarters. Mother was flanked by a few of her Devout, and she was...crying?

Hornet stood from her sneaky crouch immediately. This was wrong, her mother was invincible, and did _not_ cry, and it was even stranger for how the Devout were acting in front of it. Some were crying too, and some laughing and cheering. One was congratulating her. Hornet walked in, making herself known, and attempted to keep any fear out of her voice. 

“Mother?”

Herrah turned to face her, and the funny mixed reactions of the Devout only intensified. Herrah scooped her child up, nearly crushing her to her chest, and didn’t seem to care to stop crying.

“Hornet, honeycomb,” she held her child up to her mask, using a free arm to scrub at Hornet’s cheek while she squirmed, confused. 

“I’m going to get to watch you grow up. Isn’t that wonderful? Nothing in the entire world is ever going to stop me from doing that, okay?” Her voice was near a whisper, in a tone that Hornet had never heard from her mother before. It seemed happy, nonetheless. 

The Devout dispersed with a promise to officially spread the news that the infection had been vanquished. Celebrations had to be planned.

-

The White Lady didn’t really need to be involved in preparing the palace for guests. Even if she was the socialite of the two, it was her husband that was particular about all the appearances, and he was currently off fussing and giving orders back and forth to ensure every detail was up to standard. All the queen had had to do was have someone prepare the parlor for tea, and sit and wait for everyone to arrive. It would be an informal affair, and the first time they met with only one of the Dreamers in the palace. Today, they were only meeting Herrah as a parent, not a Dreamer. Neither she nor any of the others would ever need to take up that mantle again. 

The Pure Vessel stood vigilant by the door, hands folded primly over their nail, stood up and pointed down in front of them. They would be their guard for the meeting, despite the Lady’s reservations about allowing the child near them. The king had not relented, saying the family affair would be inappropriate for any real bug to witness. The vessel had met the gendered child a few times when she had been newly hatched, but only as a consequence of accompanying the king to Deepnest. 

The queen sat in a chaise and tapped at her knee, vaguely restless. Secretly, she had wanted to make a condition for her regular return to the palace, and for her involvement in the gendered child’s upbringing: she had not wanted to have to see the Pure Vessel again. The Lady was certain her Wyrm would make sure they were out of sight at all times if she’d only asked, but in the end, guilt stopped her. It was silly, but some part of her still felt bad about it. The vessel was at least biologically her child, and it bothered her to do anything that might hurt their feelings. But they--no, _it,--_ didn’t have any feelings. Her Wyrm had assured her of that, no matter how she once doted on it when it had been small and cute. 

At any rate, it soon wouldn’t matter. The vessel would be sent off to train with the Great Knights, and this chapter of their lives could finally come to a close. The Lady had a feeling the king would stall for time, however. The Pure Vessel had been his proudest achievement, after a literal mountain of failures and atrocities to nature. Her Wyrm had _made_ something that he’d been able to watch grow, that’d mastered complex spell work and the art of the nail under his eye. He cared for it, in his own way. She supposed she understood, as she liked to think she could have truly cared for it, as well.

She regarded it for a moment while she thought, and noticed a stain on its mask, under the eye. She picked up one of the silken napkins from the table, and made her way to the vessel. 

“Hold still,” she commanded, pointlessly. The Lady tilted its chin down with one hand, and began rubbing what looked to be a streak of dirt off with the cloth. 

“You have a spot, here. Ah, think of the way my dear Wyrm would react. What time he spends, fussing over little details like ironed pillows and polished railings. For his dearest pet project to go through a meeting in front of guests with a stain would be such an _unthinkable_ sin, yes? Though I remain unsure as to who he’d expect to notice. Herrah cares not for this place, nor our efforts in its upkeep, and something leads me to doubt the little gendered child would be horribly offended by any aesthetic faux-pas.” The Lady laughed quietly to herself. With her work done, she gave the vessel a once-over, tilting its mask side to side to examine for any more flaws, or even dust. 

Such a handsome carapace she and her Wyrm produced. Strong and regal, bearing his eyes, and so far proving to have inherited her stature. Would it have gotten other things from them, had it been whole? The king’s quiet seriousness, or maybe the queen’s eye for flower arrangement? She’s certain it would have made a fine heir, in a better life. Any one of her children now cast into that godless abyss may have. 

“Do you truly understand what you hear, I wonder?” She spoke, with her hands still on either side of its mask. It merely watched her, the void behind its mask boring into her as she spoke. 

“This land has been spared, no matter the means. The world no longer has need for an empty shell, and your duty is forfeit. Indeed, both of our sacrifices have been rendered null. I know there is no use for regret, and that there could _never_ be an apology sufficient enough to compensate for our crimes that I could offer to you, or to any of my children I allowed to be taken by the dread sea. 

Still. I am sorry. Would that you could learn and love and think for yourself, so that we could be a family in earnest, in some happier life. The gendered child would adore an older sibling, I’m sure. One so strong that she could look up to for guidance, and as a co-conspirator in her mischief. Would that I could be a loving mother to the both of you, now that all is well. Ah. Such cruel musings of fantasy from an aging root, are they not?” 

The Lady was about to pull her hands away before she felt it. A tremor under her hands, imperceptible to the eye. Fragile staccato movement as if the void behind its shell hummed under her fingertips. 

Or, the rapid fire tightening and loosening of muscle, a living creature’s natural response to cold, or rage, or grief. Shivering. They were shivering.

Slowly, she began to rub a thumb in circles along the vessel’s cheek. Their head tilted down, ever so slightly. 

A blur of red whizzed past their legs, and something crashed onto the chaise cushions with a small thump. The vessel went rigid again, and the White Lady turned to see the gendered child, helping herself to the tea pastries set out on the table. 

“Hello,” she tried.

The child hadn’t seemed to realize there were other living things in the room with her. She jolted, and stood up on the chaise. 

“...Um. Hi. Mother said there was snacks.” 

The Lady smiled, charmed. “Indeed there are. It’s alright, help yourself.” 

The gendered child did, plopping back down to stuff a honey pastry whole into her mouth. The White Lady spared the vessel a careful glance, before taking a seat in the center of the room herself. The Pale King and Herrah the Beast entered as she did, the king looking rather harried, and Herrah looking utterly unbothered. 

“Pardon us. I’d believe it if anyone told me I'd raised the fastest little spider in Deepnest. Right, honeycomb?”

The child attempted to answer her mother through a mouthful of pastry, probably in the affirmative. The Pale King just looked resigned. 

“An impressive feat, to be sure. Please, sit.” The Lady offered, gesturing out as she began to pour the tea for everyone. It was one of a few personal touches she liked to offer as a hostess, she preferred to do some things for her guests herself, instead of relegating every task to the king’s servants. Her dear Wyrm in all his uptight perfectionism would avoid socializing whenever possible, but the White Lady prided herself on good hosting. 

Herrah sat beside her child across from the Root, and the Wyrm sat in an armchair off to the side. 

(The Lady supposed she ought to think it sweet that he was being so careful not to test boundaries between them.) 

Herrah nudged her spiderling, and bade her introduce herself. 

“Mf _Hornut!”_ Spilled out with big crumbs of pastry. The White Lady giggled quietly behind a hand, and Herrah let out a laugh, looking so _fond._ Such a blessing it was, the Lady thought, that the two would get more time together than anyone had ever dreamed. The child would grow up so loved. 

“Hey, now. We don’t let prey escape our fangs, do we?” Her mother chided gently. The gendered child swallowed properly, and tried again. 

“I’m _Hornet!”_ She announced, puffed with pride. The White Lady put her hands together in a gleeful clap. 

“That’s _wonderful._ It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hornet.” She nodded in a little faux bow to the child. The queen of Hallownest knew very little about Deepnest’s traditions, but Herrah had informed her some time ago that a young spider’s naming was a big event, initiated by a trusted mentor figure in their life. The Lady found it a beautiful sentiment. 

The Pale King nodded, only a little stiff. “A fine name.” 

With that, the adults began their discussions. All parties agreed that the child should be present, as it all involved her directly, and it was far better for her to know what was going on, rather than end up carting her back and forth all the time and leave her reeling. This was the theory, but the small thing didn’t seem incredibly interested in the conversation, only responding with an “Uh-huh,” or a shrug, or a blank stare when asked plainly about her preferences between a few options. It proved more constructive to leave her to play, and allow her to chime in if she wished. 

The White Lady had sent for a toy chest to be placed in the parlor, and Hornet soon preoccupied herself with it. Nothing quite kept her interest for too long, however. She staged a play fight between little knight figurines, ran about dragging a wheeled toy stag behind her for a minute, and briefly silenced the room, once, when she shattered a puzzle cube on the ground. Herrah had idly apologized, and given Hornet a quick word to clean up the pieces. She did, for the most part. 

From the Lady’s position in the room, she was the only one who could see when Hornet noticed the Pure Vessel, and curiously approached them. Her Wyrm and the Beast were getting into a predictably heated back-and-forth about tutors that the Lady would rather stay out of unless called upon, so she kept quiet, watching the scene behind them.

Hornet stood before the Pure Vessel, toy needle in hand, peering up. The vessel, of course, did not move, nor give any indication they noticed her. This appeared to offend the young princess, or something, because what she did next was stomp, and poof out her little cloak in a threat display, hissing and brandishing her needle at them. She meant to challenge them. At her current height, Hornet came up approximately to their shin.

When that got no response, she stopped in what looked like confusion. Then, she reached out and tugged at their cloak a few times, wooden weapon held loosely down in her other hand. 

The Pure Vessel knew the Lady was watching. Discreetly, and without thinking, she waved her hand out in a little ‘go ahead’ signal. 

The Pure Vessel finally looked down at the child. Their attention secured, she repeated the threat display more dramatically than the first time. Then, she began striking ferociously at their huge nail in rapid succession, her toy needle bouncing off it with a dull thud. It didn’t budge, but that didn’t seem to deter her. 

The White Lady couldn’t suppress a giggle. That caught the attention of the other two, who ceased their bickering and turned to the scene behind them.

The Pale King nearly sputtered. Herrah let out a full body laugh. 

“That’s my little warrior! Grip your needle from the base, Hornet.” 

The spiderling let out a shrill war cry. 

“She’ll certainly be a force among the Hive.” The White Lady smiled to Herrah as Hornet ceased her assault, thoroughly tired out. The Lady gestured toward the child, looking up at her mother. “May I?”

Herrah hesitated, but only for a split second before she nodded. It’d been a bit of a social test, if the Lady were completely honest with herself; the Beast would set the precedent of trust between them all, here, even if she didn’t realize it. Though she definitely did. 

The White Lady stood, and made her way over to Hornet. The little thing looked up at her stepmother warily, but didn’t protest being lifted. The Lady gathered her full height, and the child sat up supported in her arms, now closer to eye level with the Vessel.

“Come, now. There’ll be plenty of time to play with your sibling yet, when you begin staying here.” 

Hornet whipped her head around to stare at the Pure Vessel, examining them with more interest. The White Lady’s composure betrayed nothing; she spared no glance to her guests, though she could feel her Wyrm’s gaze on her. 

Herrah knew nothing of the significance of her words, and looked on, considering. 

“I suppose they _are_ something of a half-sibling to her, aren’t they? It’s certainly a less morbid title than what’d been intended for them,” Herrah recognized.

“I didn’t know I had a _sibling!”_ Hornet piped up.

“The _Hollow Knight_ is _not--” ___

__“Are they not?” The queen interrupted her king. “They are of you, just as much as she.”_ _

__The Pale King looked floored. The White Lady swore he mouthed the word _“they”_ to himself. Herrah looked between host and hostess, clearly curious, but kept any questions to herself. Meanwhile, Hornet leaned a ways out of the White Lady’s grasp to put a hand on the vessel’s cheek. _ _

__“Hi, Hollow. I’m Hornet.”_ _

__The White Lady would swear to her dying day that she saw the vessel silently gasp._ _

__-_ _

__“What happened,” The Pale King began that night, as the White Lady tended to a neglected vase of flowers in their quarters, “to not allowing the child to bond with the vessel?”_ _

__“Forgive me my sudden change of heart, my Wyrm.” His Lady hummed, attention still on floral arrangement. “But a recent conversation with a confidant of mine convinced me to do some thinking.”_ _

__“Who?” He demanded._ _

__“Forgive me again, your majesty. I pray you allow your loyal queen her privacy while she readjusts to court life.” She stood upright then, hands folded before her, and regarded him._ _

__The Pale King stood silent for a moment, certain of the blatant surprise on his face._ _

__“...You wish to return to your duties?” To his side, he did not say._ _

__“...I wish to try.” She held out her hand to him, palm down, delicate._ _

__The Wyrm took it, and brought it to his cautiously dimmed mask for a kiss. He would ask no more questions for now._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO boy. someone pls explain to me why the royal couple suffering from Wordy Prose Disease are easier to write than one (1) small child


	3. Blauer Hof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father with daughter, and mother with child. On the importance of language.

The Pale King still devoted what time he could to researching what'd happened to the infection. He reread Monomon's notes to the point he nearly memorized them, and tried to triangulate where exactly in the kingdom the infection had begun to die out. He didn't know if it mattered, and in all likelihood it wouldn't, but he could think of no other starting point to look for a goddess missing in action.

He was forced to pause that project in the ensuing days, however, as there was simply too much official work to get done. Construction efforts were resuming, and the trade restrictions in and out of the city being lifted. The Soul Sanctum needed to be officially dealt with, and maybe even destroyed. On top of everything here, tensions seemed to be building between Deepnest and the Mantis colony. Officially there was peace, but the Pale King needed to prepare the stance his kingdom would take if war ever broke out, should Herrah call upon him as an ally. He'd consulted his foresight on it, and the rapid-fire shuttle flicker of nearby events to come included no Mantis war.

And yet, he hadn't foreseen the infection ending on its own, either. 

He hadn't foreseen having to become a father to the spiderling he'd sired in a now defunct trade. 

He hadn't foreseen his estranged wife returning to the palace as queen. 

The Pale King would do anything for the good his kingdom. And it had recently become clear to the king that the good of the kingdom depended on his ability to plan thoroughly, consider multiple outcomes, and act in an intensely careful manner when assessing risk. He was a thing of logic, harbinger of reason and sentience to all the feral creatures of the land. He'd pulled them up from the very dirt to bestow upon them the divine light of critical thinking. 

It would be a betrayal to his nature, and stupidity of the highest order, for him to ignore evidence when presented with it. And the evidence told him now that his foresight was not infallible. The king sat at his desk, and drafted a statement of neutrality, just in case. And then a second statement that promised relief aid to the people of Deepnest, instead. _Just in case._ It made him more comfortable now to cover multiple scenarios, with his trust in his premonitions newly compromised.

Foreign affairs aside, the king found himself dealing with all sorts of new business on the home front. He'd drafted letters to the Five, inquiring on the possibility of one of them being willing to take on a squire. He'd given them no details, but they had all appeared agreeable to the idea in theory. He now needed to consider a way to choose which one of them would assume responsibility for the Pure Vessel while it trained. 

Speaking of the Pure Vessel, there was a space in the middle of the city that he'd saved for a memorial statue in its honor. The king had reopened the space for public use, now that this would no longer be necessary. (A memorial had never been necessary, the king reminded himself. Just… cathartic, he supposed.) 

But this now meant he was fielding letters and requests for an audience with him left and right, from noblemen and business owners and the like, who all wanted to purchase the plot from him, and then wanted his permission to build something specific on it. Many of the ideas pitched to him so far were… inadvisable. And there were so many of them.

The load of work had been alleviated, somewhat, by the tentative return of the queen to court. She would field the concerns of the nobility as she had before, and she gave him news that many of them were planning lavish parties to celebrate the end of the plague. His famous reclusivity would spare him from being expected to attend any, but he had no doubt his Lady would let him know how they went. In the days long before the infection, she'd often come home with fresh rumors from whatever noble circle she'd been invited by, entertaining him with scandals and other such things that were really of no real significance to either of them, being gods as they were.

(The king had a long, long time to think about those days, and now believed he understood what she loved so much about sharing all that frivolity with him. The lives of other bugs were so short, and so small in scope compared to their own. Speaking of such trite things like inter-class trysts, or insulted party guests, or narrowly avoided duels had given those same things a sense of importance, and in perspective, shrunk the vastness of their own existences down to something more comprehensible for a brief moment. 

The queen's gossip-- which she shared only with him to make sure she wasn't spreading any harm --had made their normally divinity-burdened world so much smaller, and more intimate. Relegated it down to only hushed whispers, games of courtly manners, and the delighted mischief in his beloved Lady's eyes when she pointed out to him a countess who'd been having an increasingly public affair with a lowly poet. 

All at once, the Pale King again felt the weight of warring gods, void-damned progeny, and a kingdom pockmarked with the scars of disease. He felt it all on his shoulders, his back, and he ached with it.)

The king felt a tug on his robe. He managed not to startle, though it was a close call. He looked down.

"What are you doing?" Came the tiny voice of the second of only two beings in the entire world brave enough to touch him. 

(Well, three, counting Herrah, he supposed. Though the thought made him awkward.)

Right, yes. The final thing that was currently keeping him busy. Herrah had dropped off their child for a few days, to test the waters of how their shared custody would go. Said child now stared up at him, her ever-present toy weapon in one sticky hand, and the other clutched around the hem of his robes. 

"I am...reading letters," he decided to go with, turning his attention back to his desk.

"From who? Mother?" She sounded hopeful. 

"No, from people in the kingdom. And your mother only dropped you off yesterday."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "What do they say?"

"They're all concerning land development. Many of my subjects wish to build upon an empty space at the center of the City of Tears."

"What do they want to make?"

The Pale King's discomfort grew with every question. He tried not to let it show in his face. She was only a youngling, and only curious about her previously semi-estranged father. It certainly wasn't _her_ fault he was unused to explaining himself. (Unused to talking out loud so much at all, it felt like.)

"...Well," he shuffled through a few requests, "A viscount from the flooded district seeks permission to build a crystal refinery. And a woodworker would like to build a storefront to sell shellwood accessories."

"...Those sound dumb," the child declared.

"I suppose I agree," he mused."The fumes from a refinery in the middle of a busy square would be a public safety hazard."

"You should build a big tarp for the city," She offered, nearly cutting him off. "So everyone stops getting so wet."

The king picked at the fronds of his quill.

"... Logistically, your suggestion is actually more well thought out than many I've received."

"Mother says you're a worm. Does that mean you crawl around in the dirt?"

The king looked directly at her, now.

"No. I am a _Wyrm,_ but long ago, your hypothesis would have been correct. Once upon a time, I'd been a great, blind, burrowing leviathan, but I shed that life and skin for the form you see now."

Worryingly, that caught her interest. "Can I change my shape too?" 

"Not the way I did. But you will molt, in time, as any ordinary bug does."

"No I won't! Mother says there's _no one_ like me." She remarked, her little pride clearly wounded at the implication of being ordinary.

He hummed. "The Queen of Deepnest speaks the truth, but so do I. You will grow, and shed into an adult form familiar yet different from how you are now, resembling neither of your parents very closely."

"No! I'm gonna be big and fierce, just like mother. How do _you_ know anything?" She challenged.

"I have _foreseen_ it." His tone had gone steely, and he balked upon hearing it. Had he really been so affronted at being called a liar by a small child? She could barely pronounce her S sounds through her baby fangs.

Unfortunately, her riling had caused him to give up a piece of information that _really_ caught her interest. 

"Can you see the future? Because you're a worm?"

Did she _have_ to say it like that? "I am a divine being, and my foresight is a consequence of that privilege."

"Midwife can't see the future."

"My deepest condolences to her."

"Am I gonna grow the rest of my legs? What's gonna be for dinner tonight?"

"You already have all the limbs you ever shall, and the kitchen will serve stuffed mushrooms."

She squinted at him in a childish approximation of a distrusting glare.

"We'll see about both those things!" She announced, stomping off. Her little steps didn't even echo in the hallway.

His queen already put the dinner order out to the kitchen staff an hour ago. The Pale King turned his attention back to his letters, and very deliberately did not rub at his temples to alleviate the building headache.

"As you like."

-

The Pure Vessel went through most days, lately, in a numb fog.

No more purpose, no more fate. Its training long ceased, it now served as a door guard when called, and sat in silence in its "room" when not. The small space in which it spent its nights in solitude was bare of all but a bed, and a stand for its greatnail. Spartan conditions befitting an empty facsimile of a life.

It stood now in the hallway outside the king's workstation, while he occupied it behind closed doors. Though it stared straight ahead, it was not truly seeing anything. It would still act swiftly at any sign of trouble, because that'd been commanded of it, long ago when it was still learning the details of what it existed for.

The most horrible secret it kept, was that it used to count the repeating patterns along the wall. No one had ordered it to do that. But it had happened, and would happen again and again over the years, as though the wretched thing had any right to be under-stimulated.

Counting things had been all it had for itself, many, many, many times over the years. Now, blessedly, it was too broken in to the truth of its identity to muster the gall to seek entertainment. The fog was nearly comfortable, now. But when it got _too_ comfortable, it had its mantras.

_Do not think. Do not feel. Do not hope. Do not wish. Do not speak. Do not dream. Do not will. Do not. Do not. Do not. Do not. Do not. Do not._

_One, two, four, sixteen, two hundred and fifty six, sixty-five thousand, five hundred, and thirty six, four billion two hundred ninety four million nine hundred sixty seven thousand--_

A hand on its shoulder. (Not a hand on its mask, and not tiny and warm and greasy with crumbs--)

"Pure Vessel." The gentle knell of its Goddess-Queen's voice commanded its full attention. It gave all and everything, as always, as correct. 

"Come, your king will remain in his workshop a while yet, and will entertain no visitors. I pray you lend me your aid in a task far more meaningful."

The Pure Vessel followed. The Queen walked them to a seldom used wing of the castle, one it had never been inside. The very air of the wide, grand room she led it to sparkled with dust, and light seeped out from a concave ceiling decorated with dizzying, intricate ivory patterns (it could count for months, maybe years, all the leaves and swirls) and one wall opened to a balcony overlooking the kingdom behind the palace, far away and glittering. On one of the white tables scattered about lay a heaping assortment of flowers. 

"It saddened me to find my ballroom had fallen to such neglect in my absence. Though I certainly never entertained the idea that my Wyrm might _use_ it. I would never expect his majesty to willingly set foot here, for once upon a time before your birth, the risk of him falling prey to the horrors of social interaction here was too great for his heart to bear." The Lady concluded with a sigh, brushing dust from a stand that held an empty vase.

"Though this place poses no such risks now, I suspect he avoids it out of courtesy to me. I can call few things in the palace truly mine, you see. This room had been a gift, from King beloved to his new bride Queen, to call her's alone." The queen looked out towards the balcony as she spoke, blinking occasionally, likely clearing something from her eyes. 

"I find my dearest Wyrm's careful adherence to territory lines he perceives between us humorous, given the reason his land nearly fell to plague to begin with."

Her tone was nearly sharp. Hurt? But not a hurt meant for the Pure Vessel to understand, or to act upon. _(Do not care.)_

The queen ushered the Pure Vessel over to the table of flowers, and plucked one of the vases from a sill to place in front of them. Then, carefully, she began choosing flowers, and bade it pay attention while she explained what they were called, and then arranged them in the pot, fluffing and fussing with petals and leaves. 

Teaching it. 

_(Do not learn.)_

_(But she told it to, and it must always do as it is told.)_

(Its shell itched.)

Her work done, and the bouquet arranged beautifully, she pulled another vase from a stand, and set it directly in front of the Pure Vessel.

"Can you do as I just did?"

The Pure Vessel had understood long ago that words could play-act one thing, and mean another. The order was there, softened by the lie of consideration for its recipient.

It arranged the flowers just as she had, a perfect reenactment down to the movement, to the soft brush of fingertips to fix errant buds, and the way it wiped dust from the lip of the vase. One of every flower, as she had done, until the bouquet looked to be an explosion of color barely held in by its pale, pristine porcelain container.

The queen nodded her approval. The twin arrangements were set off to the side, and she bought two more vases. 

"Work with me, to fill these. I have seen to it that this room will soon see use once again, and wish to make it presentable."

And so the two worked side by side on the next arrangement, with the Pure Vessel copying its queen's every move. The queen was silent in her activity for a long moment, but deigned to speak to it again soon enough.

"The kingdom knows me to be life root of this land, and as such, I am sure most of my subjects would think it appropriate to humor me, if I told them that the flowers of Hallownest could speak."

She put a hand on its wrist, stilling the movement before it could put the next flower in place.

"But resolving to merely nod along with a respected matriarch, now clearly gone eccentric with age, would be a waste of a good learning opportunity. The flowers do speak, but in a language assigned to them by the dreams and whimsy of those who cultivate them. This one here, means peace. It makes frequent appearances in bouquets for those recently missing a loved one, and in funeral sprays."

She guided its hand to place the flower where it had meant to.

"The one you handled previously, means joy. A charming little thing, but mostly used to pad out larger arrangements. The next one, bravery. Rarely used conventionally, but sometimes meant as a romantic gesture for one's loyal protector. I happen to have it on good authority that the Five Great Knights receive them in gifts from adoring fans with some regularity."

The queen went on like this for a time, showing a flower, explaining its meaning, then adding it to the arrangement. There were many, and they varied ridiculously. Honor, hope, sadness, jealousy, gratitude, good health, bad health, and seemingly every type of love. Teaching the Pure Vessel fluency in the secret language of flowers. 

(And that there was, evidently, a truly staggering amount of different ways to love. The Pure Vessel knew nothing of any of them. None at all. It should not, could not, did not. Do not.)

"That's all for this assortment, though I promise you, there are more breeds of flora out in the world than any one person should feasibly be able to remember. Now then, the four we've finished are beautiful, but I want for variety in our arrangements. I beseech you, Vessel, create a spray befitting a kind person, who's lost much. There are thousands of souls like that in Hallownest since the plague began, and I would see to it they're represented."

The Pure Vessel did not startle, and did not hesitate. The queen got to work on her own vase, leaving it to its quest.

(It did not balk at the idea of a task which required them to solve a problem. It did not tremble at a puzzle that had many solutions, but that all required it to _express something through choices it had to make on its own._ The end result would be expression, no matter what happened. It was the name of the game, the point of flowers at all, and the Pure Vessel could not forfeit an order.

The queen of Hallownest was capable of cruelty. This was only a fact, proven by her actions at the bottom of the world, of the abyss below it, and expressed by herself in her own words.

 _It_ did not think her cruel, for it _did. Not. Think.)_

With steady hands, the Pure Vessel put together an arrangement in line with the prompt given. Flowers were added that meant kindness, as were ones that meant loss. But it needed far more than that to be presentable, so they padded it out with tangential themes. Hope. Apology. Grief. Peace. Love for a fellow living creature.

The queen appraised its bouquet once its movements stilled. She dipped her head, approving. 

"Now, make me one for our Great Knights. I'd be remiss not to invite them to any party thrown in the palace."

_Okay. Act. Do not think…_

Honor, bravery. Peace again, padded by little flowers meaning "to wish". Love for family, for it knew the knights to be close to one another, and luck in battle.

"I have need of one for Lurien. He may find large gatherings tiresome, but he remains an important figure among the aristocracy. His paintings sold for fortunes, when he thought himself a dead bug, and so finally parted ways with some of them. We do owe him some debt."

_Do not feel…_

Gratitude, beauty, solitude, sacrifice, loyalty.

"Monomon would come, of course. She's a delight to speak with, though she rivals Lurien in her displeasure for matters of the court. Truthfully, I know she finds Hallownest's social elite to be distasteful. I can not begrudge her this, having suffered conversations with them myself, and I know myself to be counted in their numbers."

_Do not hope…_

Intelligence, bravery, discovery, love for one's teacher, accomplishment. 

"And, of course, one for the Queen of Deepnest."

_Do not wish…_

Gratitude, bravery, royalty. Love for one's child. Alliance. At the center, large festive blooms that meant "congratulations".

The queen of Hallownest stared at this one far longer than any of the others. 

"Make one, now, for yourself, that I may understand you in our shared language." She commanded, quiet as the wind.

_Do not..._

…

It picked through the assortment. It added flowers to the vase.

Emptiness of the heart. Fragility. Great expectations. Failure. Confusion. Solitude. Fear. Pain. Love for one's mother, and pain. Love for one's father, and fear. Love for one's sister, and a padding of wishes. 

Finally, the whole stock of apologies, simply piled around the base of the pot when it ran out of room in the bouquet, lying limp and odorless.

-

The White Lady knelt to the floor alongside the vessel when they crumpled to their knees, and held her child tight for the first time in many years, letting them tremble violently in her arms. She did not know whether they had no ability for tears, or if they were simply too overwhelmed to handle learning how to cry, on top of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /hands you a metaphor  
> /hands you a metaphor  
> /hands you a vague reference to a real life historical event  
> /hands you a metaphor  
> /hands you tiny homages to my favorite fics  
> /hands you a baby
> 
> also, i love you guys


	4. Aachen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, an interlude from His Majesty's Finest. And then, a princess hunt.

Far in the westernmost part of the City of Tears was a district that was low to the ground, and only kept livable and unflooded by the diligent upkeep of the waterways and irrigation systems below the city. Here, the king had long ago ordered barracks built to train Hallownest's knights.

The place offered some bugs hope in climbing the social ladder, Ogrim knew. Knighthood was a respected career path, and had traditionally been meant for the hatchlings of the noble class to pursue. Teens of nobility would be sent to work as pages for a short time in the palace to secure themselves a squireship as adults, and then earn knighthood after some years of training. 

But nowadays, the often spoiled youth of the upper crust would usually tire of the work their path demanded, and would flunk out of the barracks. Especially with Fierce Dryya running the place as she did. She took no prisoners, and allowed no laziness or shirking of duties from people who were supposed to become warriors that would represent Hallownest itself. 

So, it'd recently become more popular for driven bugs of no noble birth to come knocking at the barracks, and simply beg for an apprenticeship. Ogrim was always thrilled at their enthusiasm, and would take the young ambitious souls under his claw and allow them to train in the barracks to one day be mercenaries. Official knighthood could only be granted by the king, but a mercenary fighting under some minor liege lord would often earn a comfortable life without it. Others had bigger dreams of building honor and a reputation, and to one day be knighted in truth, securing wealth and renown for their families. 

Dryya was more discerning than Ogrim over who they took in. Aside from their Queen, Dryya had even less respect for the supposed “rights” of aristocrats than he did, and she was extra harsh on anyone who walked into the barracks wearing jewelry and foreign silks, expecting someone to take their coat. Ogrim pretended to be sympathetic when those bugs slowly realized knighthood would not be within their grasp if they continued as they were, no matter how often they shouted and whined about the significance of their family name. 

So Dryya would take only anyone who she felt could actually handle the responsibilities of a warrior. Any hopeful youth with their own cheap nail would be allowed in the door by Ogrim if they showed spirit, but Dryya would be the one to test their mettle. No one could match her prowess with a longnail, but all she _really_ wanted to see in a new trainee was the boldness to challenge her at all. 

"I wonder," Ogrim said during a rest period, while Dryya tended to her weapon, and he re-read the letter sent from the palace, "What kind of bug the king would personally send here? Who'd shown enough promise to join our ranks with his personal blessing?"

"They'd _better_ be good, if they're coming under royal orders. A word from the king makes them a shoo-in for knighthood already, before they've even proven anything _here."_ Dryya all but grumbled. Ogrim laughed, in that full-bellied way he only ever did.

"Come now! His majesty surely wouldn't waste his own time with some flighty grub, or ours. Look, it says here he's even sent letters out to the other Five to ask if they'd want a personal squire."

"Wait, he didn't just ask if we'd take them in at the barracks? "

"Hmm, he did, but it looks like he wants a more personal involvement from one of us for his mystery bug." He handed Dryya the letter, tilting his head. "Did you not receive your own letter? It says we all would."

"I suppose I did, but I saw the castle seal and thought it another forgery."

Ah. They did have a problem some with bugs trying through all kinds of means--illegal or otherwise--to weasel themselves or their children back into their knight training when they'd been kicked out for laziness or impertinence. Someone's wealthy parent always had something to say about how _cruel_ the barracks were to their precious little grub, who was _so_ destined for great things. Forgeries "from the palace" were uncommon, but they happened more now, with the infection over and a new influx of pupils coming in with a new zeal to get on with their lives, or with newfound dreams of protecting their loved ones in case of another disaster. Fortunately though, the Five agreed that honor, respect, and kindness were traits too important for a knight not to have. The king and queen had agreed, and so no one ever had to bend to any tantrums.

"A personal squire." Dryya said with open distaste. "Does he mean to burden one of us to be a babysitter?"

"Well, I doubt that! I imagine it's up to us what kind of teachers we’d be. Hegemol would teach well of protection and kindness, I think. Though I'm not sure about Ze'mer…"  
Their mysterious friend had recently taken to sneaking off to the Mantis village, thinking no one knew about it. She was hard to read sometimes, but she was honestly doing a very poor job at keeping the fact that she'd fallen in love a secret, and would probably not want the attention of a squire on her, at the moment. At least he and Isma were discreet, Ogrim thought, though he was quietly elated for his friend.

"Isma would be too easy on a charge." Dryya snorted, briefly startling Ogrim into paranoia she somehow heard his thoughts. "She's too nice." 

"Oh? I recall that Sir 'Too Nice' had once given you a good thrashing in the arena, and then had to save your sorry shell!" 

"We were on _her_ turf! What weird dark magics is she performing that she needs so much acid around her home?"

"I think she's cross-breeding fruit." Ogrim recalled some odd relation between the acid of Greenpath and soil fertility. 

"Oh yes, I'm sure she'd be a fantastic tutor. The knighting would learn the noble arts of _berry picking,_ and how to clean burn marks off their armor every day." 

Ogrim laughed, fond despite himself. 

"And what about you? I thought you'd be bouncing off the walls at the chance to get to personally train a new knight for the king. You're always so… enthusiastic, with the trainees."

"Obnoxious" had been a way one earl's son had described his zealous methods to another trainee. He'd watched Dryya swoop in and hand the boy a grill brush, then force him to scour grime from the walls before Ogrim could even make his presence known. The kid had still been at it the next morning. 

"Ahh, you know me well. But any one of us would make a fine tutor, and I'm excited to see who the king chooses for the task, and wish them well on how they handle it." He answered, almost uncharacteristically poised.

"Hey, don't be modest. Your chances are good, if you want to make an appeal. Write back to the king and say you'd love to take on a squire. Goodness knows I don't want to, Isma and Hegemol are always busy, and Ze'mer would probably have a panic attack at the idea of being followed everywhere right now," she grinned.

"That's very kind of you, but I'll defer to the King's unbiased judgment," he answered quickly.

Dryya looked up from the rag on her nail, directly at him. A moment of silence passed between them. 

"... What did you do."

"Nothing!"

"Ogrim--"

"I may have... already written back, on behalf of the Five? And, maybe, let the Pale King know that any one of us would make a fine pick for the job."

"...Is that all?"

"I, er, may have exaggerated the equality of our shared exuberance at the idea."

"Fuck's sake." 

_"Dryya!"_

"Oh, come off it. Because if the king ends up sticking _me_ with the grub, I'm _going_ to swear around them."

Ogrim was inwardly (and visibly, if the way Dryya laughed at him was any indication) a little horrified at the idea. Because Ogrim knew something the other Five did not.

The King and Queen had done some sort of void experiment, long ago, that resulted in the brief appearance of a youngling around the White Palace, back when Ogrim had been doing his own training at the castle. A youngling who the king in his fatigue had admitted to him was meant for some great purpose, to somehow seal away the apparently otherworldly source of the plague. 

Ogrim had unthinkingly noted how the child so resembled his king, and the Pale King had immediately sworn him to secrecy. No one must ever know the strange, mute child existed. _"For the good of the kingdom," his liege had said. "All of it."_

Ogrim had wondered, upon receiving the news that the infection faded unexpectedly, what was to become of the secret princeling. He strongly hoped his theory about the identity of their possible squire was right, so he didn't have to hope, instead, that no sadder fate had befallen them once their purpose became unnecessary.

-

Hornet had, somehow, gotten herself stuck up on the cornice of a clustered column outside one side of the palace.

The brood of Beast and Wyrm had been missing all morning, and the King sent out a search party the second the news had reached him, and that included sending out the Pure Vessel to join the frantic retainers in their efforts. And here the vessel found her, sitting with her back against the palace wall, staring down.

The vessel just stared back. In his haste, the king hadn't told it what to do about it once it found her. He certainly hadn't told it what to do in _this_ situation. So it stood there, staring up at its little sibling, who sat looking trapped like a tiktik in a tree. 

"...I can get down from here anytime I want, you know." The girl called down after a few seconds. 

Silence, and more staring.

"But I don't want to! Lessons are stupid. The bugs here talk funny, and they won't let me have my needle. And I don't _wanna_ wear white!"

Stare.

"It's my clothes, and you can't make me! It's my _hunting cloak!_ I need it! Go away if you're gonna try to make me! _Go away!!"_ She turned away from it to pout at the wall.

The Pure Vessel remained. Technically, the girl had given it an order. But it had been on the condition that it tried to get her to wear palace attire. The vessel had no such orders, and so it saw no reason to leave.

(Though _reasoning_ its way through an order instead of following blindly had made a cold knot form somewhere deep in its void, that it wanted to claw at. _Do not think. But it was okay now, the queen wanted it to start. But the queen wasn't here. Do not do not do not.)_

Hornet turned back again, once a few moments passed and she saw the vessel hadn't moved.

"What do you want?" Silence. A tilt of her head. "...You're my sibling, right? I guess you can stay, if you don't tell on me. My friends say siblings don't tell on each other, and you can bite them if they do, and then they can't tell on biting either."

Something about being directly told to stay made the knot lessen. It wasn't in trouble. And it couldn't speak to anyone about her whereabouts, anyway. 

"Are you a spider too? Or is your mother my stepmother? You look like me more than I look like my friends." Hornet sat more relaxed up on the cornice, dangling her legs off the side. "I asked mother why she didn't ever tell me about a sibling. Do you know what she said? She said the king locked you up in a tower for a long time. Did you get in trouble?"

The vessel's shell itched again. Tower wasn't right, was it? The palace had many towers, but it went where it was supposed to. Locked away wasn't right. It went where it had to. 

Was the little room where it slept in one of the towers?

Slowly, like it might shatter and ruin everything around it with mess if it moved too much, the vessel nodded once. 

"Oh. I'm sorry. I'm glad you're out now." She idly kicked at the air. "...Do you wanna play if I come down? I'm only gonna come down for a bit, okay? Then I'm going back up, and _not_ inside."

She didn't wait for an answer from it, and began scaling the cornice. The vessel knew of the vertical capabilities of spiders, and wondered at how Deepnest possibly kept its young contained with any success. 

_Stop that. Do not wonder, that takes it too far. Do--_

Hornet slipped from her foothold with a shriek. 

The vessel had one success to soothe its guilt. It could say with certainty that it did not think at all, when it lunged forward to catch her. 

It caught its sister with ease, with a little _'oof!’_ from her on impact. She looked back up at her perch, apparently assessing the height she'd fallen from, and looked a little rattled. 

"...Thank you, Hollow." She said, in that sort of resigned way children did when they felt they _had_ to, and wrapped her arms around its neck in a hug.

It froze as if its neck would snap, or its mask would crack if it moved. It nearly shook, because it learned with some horror that something deep inside it, that it thought already shattered when its mother held it for what must have been hours, could break _again_ and shoot out of it painfully. It already cracked under how warm the child, its sister, was.

The gesture was brief before Hornet hopped down. 

"I'm gonna teach you a spider game, okay? I don't have my needle, so help me find a good stick."

-

After over an hour of panic, of searching every damned crevice and corner and pocket the gendered child could have been hiding in without him knowing, the frazzled Pale King was glowing so harshly no one could even look in his direction. Even the queen kept her gaze steadily over his shoulder while she gently counseled him not to assume the worst. It was then that his foresight finally showed him that he'd find his daughter in the courtyard. 

When he came out to retrieve her, he found the Pure Vessel sitting in the middle of a heavily columned ambulatory off the eastern wing of the palace. He made to approach it, and watched it dive out of the way in a roll as a tiny red blur lunged at it from a spot behind one the columns, somewhere above, then gave chase while she squealed and ran off to scramble up another perch. It clearly let her escape, to attempt to “hunt” it again, silent while she gloated about how she was too fast for it.

The king marveled idly on how complex the child must have needed to make her orders to get it to play with her, as he cleared his throat and stepped forward. The vessel stood at rigid attention as it'd been taught in his presence, silently awaiting further instruction, ending the fun the princess was having at its expense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /// cw unreality: /// 
> 
> Fun fact: Dated early as the 1300's, and up to the late 1800's before pretty much disappearing, a very specific malady called the "Glass Delusion" afflicted the nobility in particular. Some nobles, royals, and scholars believed they'd born with glass bones, hearts, or limbs, or would insist that they must have once ingested a large amount of glass, which was now a part of them. These people would dress in thick, protective coats or walk around with pillows, would avoid moving too quickly or with any force, and would sometimes avoid letting anyone touch them altogether. Carelessness, they thought, would cause the glass to shatter.


	5. The Tower of London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Think then, oh think of him, and breathe one prayer  
> From the full tide of sorrow spare one tear,  
> For him who does not weep!"
> 
> -Anna Laetitia Barbauld, "On the Death of Princess Charlotte"

The Pale King quickly noticed the changes in his court. Most were small, but they added up.

The king once had a council, in the way of scholars and high-class bugs who'd deliberate on issues too minor for the king's direct attention. Among other things, they handled civil cases, oversaw the enforcement of their laws in the city, approved squires to train for knighthood, and proposed measures for the king to ultimately approve or deny as needed. When the infection peaked, the council had pretty much dissolved. Some members had fallen directly to the plague, but the rest, either despairing or begging to spend what they thought was the end of days with their families, had simply resigned one by one.

But recently, one or two of those who'd made it had written to the king, begging him to reinstall them to their previous positions. Once he had, more members were slowly being appointed by either the king, queen, or by vote between the council itself. Many brought their own knights and families. More retainers had to be hired, and castle staff nearly doubled. The palace was busier than it'd been in years, and the king felt immense relief that he'd built the place to be so big that he still had no trouble rarely getting seen.

The less practical, actually small changes in the palace were oddly more noticeable to him than the re-establishment of an entire legislative body. Toys were usually strewn about in inconvenient places. The kitchen served similar, often simple and meat-heavy meals with increasing frequency. Fragile decorations would turn up broken, haphazardly hidden behind curtains or brushed under carpet. The Pale King tiredly supposed he ought to be thankful that there was at least _one_ mystery in his life that was _easy_ to solve.

(His plan to investigate the part of the city where the infection first started dying off had been fruitless. It'd turned out there _was_ no single point at which it began to die; people had started improving seemingly at random all over the kingdom. Back to square one. Square one was, annoyingly, not actually very far back.)

The diminutive hurricane that was Hornet living at the palace notwithstanding, there were other changes. Ones that weren't at all inconvenient, but that no less gripped at his heart in the same way the constant reminders he now had a daughter in his life sometimes did. 

There were flowers around the palace, now. (Again, he should say.) Previously empty vases and priceless pots of all sizes now sported some manner of greenery more often than not. He stopped at one, on the way to his workshop. Flora popped out at him, arranged in a bold spectrum of every color that looked to his untrained eye to be random, but that he knew in reality to be very carefully thought out. He sniffed at it.

By virtue of the rare overlapping of their duties and interests, the king did not actually see his wife as often as he'd-- used to. 

No, let's face it, as often as he'd _like_ to.

But they did see each other. He was incredibly careful about giving her space to do as she pleased in the home they shared, and was, honestly, often confused and torn about where the best balance would lie between doing _that,_ and making the effort to be in her life again. What would be too much? Would too little drive her off again, would she find it be too similar to how she lived apart from him in her gardens to be worth the trouble of staying? Did she hide some resentment of the gendered child, and dislike seeing her follow him around, the way she amused herself with pestering him for secrets of the future? What in the world did she feel about the Pure Vessel now--was he taking too long in sending it away, and unknowingly forcing her to act kind to it in her guilt over its tragic existence? 

(...Would he be welcome to kiss her, again? They hadn't yet shared their bed since she came back, for sleep or any other purpose. Neither of them really _needed_ to sleep, being divine, but they used to rest together, almost nesting in their bed, at the bubbling joy of their new marriage and their excitement for the future to come.)

He supposes he could ask her these things.

Of the two of them, though, his queen commanded her words with a mastery he never possessed, self-assured and elegant. He'd watched her humiliate impudent courtiers with a practiced gentleness that was outright terrifying. He saw her earn the love of her people with eloquence and kindness that inspired their unyielding loyalty. 

He needed to think, if he wanted to approach her with any potentially dangerous topic. He had to plan, he needed the right words with the right tone. Even if he could not hope to match her in the art of conversation, he would sooner drop his own damn self into the void sea before he'd barge in on her again without notice, bumbling and flustering like he had that day in her gardens, when he'd begged her to come home and help him raise a child that she had no responsibility to. 

He had to do better. Hopefully he could begin soon. 

As usual, his brilliant queen would succeed at throwing him and his plans for a scrambling loop when she approached _him_ first, at his workshop, and invited him to play a game with her. He accepted, dropping the copies of medical records of the previously infected on his desk, leaving them quickly forgotten. 

-

They went out on a low balcony overlooking the courtyard. This wing of the palace was quiet, and tucked away from any busy staff or hasty councilmen, and the king and queen sat at a lovely pale ore chess table along the railing. There were vines growing from below, that creeped up to weave between the ornate swirl of metal along that railing. Had those always been there? He supposed the queen could have planted them, and accelerated their growth. Things tended to flourish so easily, in her presence. Had these been the happier days of before the infection, he'd have mused on this aloud, trying to be charming, and then not-so-secretly relished in her teasing amusement. 

Now, though, they sat quietly, and set the board. 

Movement caught his eye in the courtyard below. A little red blur hacking at a stone statue with her shellwood toy. Off to the side, keeping watch and so still it could _be_ another statue, was the Pure Vessel. 

"She's going to break her needle," the king blurted tonelessly in his exasperation. "And then what?"

"And then, she'll find a branch, and will continue her task unhindered. Such is the tenacity of children." The queen hummed, all faux solemnity. "White makes the first move."

Ah. It appeared that was him. It'd been ages since they last played, and he briefly tried to remember her style of strategy. He settled on playing on the offense.

Sure enough, she began setting up a careful defense. The two kept an eye on the child as they played, but the king trusted the Pure Vessel with her care enough not to distract himself too often. It must have been told to protect her, and so it would. The only danger was to the vessel itself, should the child figure out she could order it around herself. It had been taught not to ever harm palace property outright, but the princess has so far proven to have something of a creative mind when it came to destruction.

"Will Herrah be coming here to retrieve her tomorrow, or will she be escorted to Deepnest?" The queen inquired, after the child shrieked something in her play loudly enough that carried all the way up to them.

"We've decided the Beast will bring her here, and I am to escort her back home."

"You will set foot in Deepnest again?"

"We agreed that it'd be ideal for one of her parents to always accompany her in travel. However, Herrah has her Devout to escort the child, and I have my guards, in case either of us is preoccupied." He takes one of her pawns with his own.

"And my king has plenty to keep busy with, as of late. Such a stroke of convenience." Ah. She took a bishop while he'd been distracted with the pawn. 

"Alas, I cannot ever predict with perfect accuracy how much work needs to be done. Hallownest is vast, and my sentries are well paid for their time, save for the kingsmoulds." He does not deny not wanting to go. 

"Will you send a city guard with her to Deepnest, then?"

"A few."

"Mm. I'm afraid I've never had much interest in economics. Tell me, what is a fair salary, these days, for an ordinary bug to occupationally venture into the den of spiders? On an unrelated note, has Herrah spoken much of whether Deepnest has yet solved the food shortage that plagued them with the infection?"

The king paused.

"... Perhaps I shall draft a message to Hegemol for the service."

His Lady smiled, half hiding it by keeping her head tilted down as if focused on the board. 

"Why not simply make use of the stag station in Deepnest? I have heard you went through a fair amount of trouble to convince Herrah to let you establish it, just to facilitate work on the binding spell."

The king bristled. "I'd rather keep use of the _palace_ station to an absolute minimum. Between the four of us, we would be in and out of it too frequently. We may even end up needing to let more stags know it exists. Imagine the consequences if that secret were made public."

"Of course. Few things would be more abominable than _tourism_ around the palace," his Lady teased.

"You jest, but if this place did attract crowds of gawkers, I cannot promise my restraint in blinding them." 

She laughed now, quiet but openly. The sound brought with it a flutter to the king's chest that he hoped _desperately_ did not manifest in the tips of his wings.

The game went on for a while, in the kind of comfortable silence the Pale King was relieved to learn they were still capable of. They were as near evenly matched as the king remembered, and it provided a rather entertaining challenge for the both of them. 

This was nice.

At one point, the Lady looked out over the balcony, and spoke up again. 

"Why not send the princess with the Vessel? She appears to have grown somewhat fond of her sibling, in these few short days. None would be more capable than them, in regards to keeping the child safe." 

The king paused in his move, feeling wrong. 

He followed her gaze out into the courtyard, and saw the Hornet reaching her arms out toward the Pure Vessel. It reached her in two quick strides and bent to pick her up, supporting the child properly with one arm, and with their other hand on her back.

"Who taught it how to properly hold a child?" The king blurted before he could think better of it.

"I imagine they learned on their own, during their time with her. She's not shy about squirming."

"The Pure Vessel cannot learn without being told."

"Can they not?" She hummed, looking back down at their game to send out a rook. "Were they told explicitly where and how to make every single strike of their nail for optimal effect, or did they learn by trial and error? Did they learn to hone their focus into spells of unparalleled strength through discipline and practice, or because their tutor simply commanded them to be an expert?" Her rook takes his second bishop. He balks, looks up at his Lady, who regards him evenly.

"That is not how it _works._ The Pure Vessel has no mind like what I have given our people. They, too, could breathe and eat and walk before we found this place. No one needs to tell an animal what pool to avoid drinking from, for its own body’s senses and experiences will inform it if the water is foul. This is not sentience.” He looks back down to his game. Her rook is now open to be taken, should he decide to be aggressive with his queen piece. He does. 

“You argue soundly. But what the Vessel has expressed are no mere displays of animal instinct, and the things you describe as present in the basest forms of life are, too, present in you and I. Even the gods must breathe, and seek to sustain themselves. Why is having the wherewithal to understand not to drink tainted water _instinct_ in an animal, when that same understanding would be called _logic_ in us, and in your higher beings?” She pulls back her remaining rook and bishop, relegating them to protect her king piece. 

“Her majesty has expertly adapted the subject of our Pure Vessel into a discussion of philosophy, a subject which far exceeds the thing’s own complexity.” He sends out his knights after her defense. The Lady’s own were long since taken. One takes a backline pawn.

“There can _be_ no discussion about mind and soul without philosophy, my Wyrm.” Bishop takes knight. The Pale King begins tapping the underside of the table.

“Maybe so. But as far as mind and soul are concerned, the Pure Vessel had them both flushed away by the abyssal sea long before it even left the egg.“ Queen takes bishop. 

“How were you so certain, that day, as you saw so many like them struggle to climb free from it? Does that not speak of desperation? A _will_ to live?” 

“Because that is what the void _does._ It consumes, it _takes._ It hungers for all because it is _nothing,_ it could take any gift from any god that creates and bestows and silence it. It would take the Radiance’s light and extinguish it. It would take Unn’s living greenery, reduce it to inert stone. And it did take the spark of life that was of you, and the spark of mind that was of me, and all it allowed to escape its clutches were the remains, when they had nothing else left for the sea to consume. It spat out only husks, that only climbed to answer the call of my light they now lacked, that the void wanted for itself. You were not there, you did not _see_ what I did, you didn't see all of--" He took a breath, steadying. _"It gave me my Pure Vessel."_ Knight takes rook.

“And what if you underestimate the power of our own natures, in relation to the void? You say the void takes all, and leaves nothing. I know us both to have, many times, created beautiful things _from_ nothing. My gardens, from hard dirt. Your current form, from the dead flesh of your previous. Our civilization. Our love.” Her last line of defense is her queen piece. His knight and towers already flank it.

“Why are you suddenly so adamant that the vessel might _supposedly_ retain some agency? Do you think it alive, suddenly, after all these years of avoiding it?” He finally snapped, looking her in the eye. She held his stare with her own. Her eyes were hard, and it looked wrong on her.

“Or are you simply projecting your regrets of motherhood onto it, now that I’ve brought a real child of my _own_ into the palace?”

His queen piece takes her own, and the black king is surrounded. Checkmate. 

The White Lady stands and leaves. 

-

Ogrim was summoned to collect the Pure Vessel, right before the gendered child took her leave as well. The king had not commented on the small spiraling wreath of white and yellow flowers the thing had been wearing around a horn before it was quickly escorted out. 

The palace was quiet. The Pale King locked himself in his workshop, and threw himself into his investigation on the whereabouts of the Radiance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was in chess club. i was not even slightly good at it


	6. Windsor Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A parlay between queens, and the beginning of a few journeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might be heavy one, there's some discussion on what happened at the abyss a little over halfway through, right after the bit where i actually use the word 'deference' as a young adult in the year 2020

Herrah hadn't grilled her daughter for information about her treatment at the White Palace upon her return. No matter what she felt for the Pale Wyrm-- and she felt a lot of things, many of them on the stabby side-- she would have to trust him. Deepnest and Hallownest were official allies now, and with the drama going on in Mantis territory between its Lords, she figured it was best not to offend the uptight little king and antagonize another foreign front. 

Plus, of course, the two were co-parents. It would be better for Hornet if they remained cordial. The last thing she wanted was to have her little spiderling growing up feeling like she ought to take sides against her own mother or father, and she knew at least the Root felt the same. The best Herrah could do was low-key try and make sure the old wyrm didn't go and teach Hornet anything stupid.

At any rate, it turned out Herrah hadn't needed to ask Hornet a single thing she was curious about. The obligatory "Did you have fun?" opened an absolute floodgate of information, which continued to spill now as Herrah weaved in her den.

"--And then he--and then he said we would have mushrooms and we did and they were okay but I found the kitchen and I ate all the real food! They have so much food there! I tried to bring some back but the king said no and made me take it out of my cloak so I put it-- I put it all on the floor and he made a face. Why does he have so much food there?" She ended her tirade, temporarily, staring up at her mother. 

"...I'm trying to make him share with us, too. That's called trade."

"I _know_ what trade is. It's like when my friend said he'd eat dirt if I gave him my needle."

"...Well, you're not wrong, but _Hornet--"_

"I didn't do it!! He wouldn't eat the dirt. Anyways I played with Hollow a lot after that, too. Hollow wasn't mean when I chased them like the bugs in the white dress things. They even played real games with me, mother!"

Ah yes, the king's vessel. The thing she should have been a jailer to, in what now felt like a supremely _sketchy_ death pact in exchange for her little pride and joy. Herrah liked to think that it was some cosmic joke at the Pale King's expense that their daughter now loved the vessel so much, and accepted them as family so quickly. That hadn't really been a surprise, on Herrah’s end. Weavers are born in egg sacs, many at a time, so all of Hornet's little playmates likely had multiple siblings. She used to ask Herrah why _she_ didn't, and all Herrah could do was remind her her case had been unique, though she now worried the child might form a complex. Perhaps having a sibling made her feel a little more like everyone around her.

And she certainly did seem to adore them. 90% of her information dump upon returning had been about "Hollow", and how amazing they were. The rest of it was about all the places she could hide in the palace. Herrah hoped with some pettiness that Hornet's antics had given the wyrm at least one good scare.

"Guess what? They really like flowers, like stepmother. Do we have flowers in Deepnest? I want to show them some!"

"I'm afraid we don't, but we have mushrooms. They're _like_ flowers."

"But you can't _eat_ flowers. I tried, but Hollow wouldn’t let me."

"You can't eat most kinds of mushrooms, either, you know."

"I guess. ...But I forgot to show you!"

Hornet rooted around in her little silk bag, and retrieved a few flower heads, which were crushed at varying degrees under her other stuff. She then kind of deflated.

"They got ruined."

Herrah tisked, sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Hornet. Flowers are very fragile, like a lot of things in Hallownest. But maybe next time you see them, you can ask your sibling to teach you how to take care of flowers properly, yeah? And then you can show them to everyone when you get back home."

Hornet immediately brightened at the idea.

"When do I get to go back?"

"A couple weeks. It'll be for a bit longer this time, though."

"But that's still so long!" 

Herrah resisted the impulse to chuckle at the depth of the child's emotions for this.

"Maybe it is. Hey, I have an idea: why don't you write them a letter? You've been practicing your script, haven't you?"

Hornet gasped, and began to bounce in place. Wow, she could already jump high for her size.

"Do you think they can write me back, mother?!"

"I'm not sure, but I bet they'll be happy to read what you send them. Now go find the parchment." 

The little thing took off like a bursting pressure valve.

-

It didn't take long for Hornet to get tired, exhaustion from the big trip catching up to her. After Herrah tucked her little spiderling in, snug in her nest, she quietly crept back out to the village, and began to make rounds with her Devout.

Deepnest had been hit hard by the infection. The weaver population had suffered the most, and at the height of the plague dwindled down by almost half in a week. The mourning period had to pass quickly, and now most of Herrah's time was spent in reconstruction. She and her Devout regularly ventured out, did almost all of the hunting for the nests, and distributed the food. She wanted to put pressure on Hallownest for aid, but knew the king would take as much as he could possibly get in return, and they had precious little to give. Especially with the Mantises at their doorstep. Herrah had no upper hand against the king, and refused to leverage their daughter like a bargaining chip. She doubted even _he_ would stoop so low. 

No, for now, the best she could do was whatever she could do on her own. She was the queen, and these were her people, and it fell on her to protect them as best she could. She would not let Hallownest potentially colonize them. That had been a very real threat, once, and she would give the blinding wyrm no openings while her power held.

Herrah stopped her posse in their tracks with a raised hand. She felt something in the ground beneath. A swarm of dirt carvers? An earthquake? It stopped abruptly, and it was at that second Herrah remembered the stag station she'd been forced to let the king install, up so close by her own den.

She commanded her Devout continue their tasks, and ventured back up. 

Once there, she saw her guess had been right. There was a visitor at her door, and it was the last person she ever expected to see in Deepnest, just after the King himself, no matter how they'd agreed on taking their daughter back and forth themselves.

"Root."

"Pardon the intrusion." Hallownest's queen half bowed. Her robes were dirty, but she looked poised as ever, otherwise. Except Herrah could practically smell the exhaustion off her. 

"Well, I don't have tea to share. I hope that's no trouble."

"I actually brought a few tins with me, hopefully to compensate for my imposition. You liked the black variety, yes?"

Well, she did.

-

Oh, what an absolute bastard. No, yeah, she was going to say it, this time.

"Oh, what an absolute _bastard."_

Root simply had another sip in response. How could she tell her story and still hold herself like she was talking about the weather? Hallownest nobility never ceased to amaze Herrah with their ridiculous worship of outdated codes of etiquette.

"And you told him outright? About your child?"

"I'm afraid I fell to my own ingrained instinct to 'beat around the bush', as one might say. But I had clearly tried, and that is how he'd reacted." She put her cup down, gentle to the point of not even letting it clink. "I apologize for burdening you with matters beyond what should concern you. I confess I do not know entirely what compelled me to seek you, in my flight from the palace."

"You wanted to talk to another parent. Vent your frustrations to someone who might possibly understand what you're feeling." Herrah responded easily.

Root looked up at her at that, looking downright miserable. 

"...What would you do in my place, then, were you married, and your partner refused to acknowledge your daughter?"

"Bite their head off, is what." She took a sip.

That at least tore a startled laugh out of the poor dear. _"Herrah!"_

"What? Sometimes confrontation is necessary. Even--no, _especially_ if you love someone. Deference doesn't help people grow, and it certainly doesn't encourage them to consider other perspectives. And it sounds to me like he's too far stuck in his own head to do either without a good bite."

Root quieted, looking down into her cup. 

"...I did not challenge his decisions, as king, when he set his plans to combat the Radiance in motion. I know he believed that he'd done what he must. I watched him in those days, as he spent hour after hour forming plan after plan. Failure after failure. I know not what effect the void he toyed with in his desperation may have had on him, or if any effect lingers. 

He was at his wit's end when he finally conceived the idea for the Pure Vessel initiative. It was monstrous, even at its theoretical stage. He begged my aid for the good of the kingdom, and I acquiesced. I have no predilections towards equating one’s seeds with living creatures, and I admit I never truly expected his plan to yield any results when he threw them all into the abyss. It felt harmless, if incredibly morbid.

But when I saw the Pure Vessel before me as a living child, I could not escape the realization that they had all hatched. That so many of them had left the egg to live in truth, so briefly."

She spoke low and evenly. Herrah knew well the skill to control one's voice to a small space, so to compel those around to listen closely. It was important for any leader to be able to command attention without just screaming at everyone like a tyrannical infant. Here, though, Herrah suspected the queen of Hallownest was simply trying to maintain her composure.

"I understand well the folly of sunk cost. It is a thing that, if left unchecked, can ruin people and nations alike. I could not bear the initial cost at all, and so I fled. It seems my Wyrm still cannot bear the idea that such a cost really had been all for nothing. I know that if he continues to believe the Pure Vessel is empty, he can continue to believe he was indeed saving the kingdom, and not that he'd committed the worst cruelties of our time to just to end up with something that would have failed and damned the world anyway. I do not know if I could bear such a failure either, had it been my plan, and had I seen the faces of our children within the abyss with my own two eyes, even weakening as they are."

Herrah sat in silence with her for another moment. She'd known all this in theory, but. Gods above.

"...The past does inform the present, yes. But that doesn't mean it has to excuse it."

"Does it not? Would it not be justice, now, for me to lock myself away and keep myself bound, that I may never again seed? Would that not be proper penance to my lost kin?"

"What? No. What? That'd just be a disservice to your _child._ Your _living_ one, that deserves to have lost time made up to it. Not to mention the other one, who you gave your word to raise with us. Who in the world does self-flagellation help? Your kingdom? Or would it just give you an excuse to run from your own shame?"

Root blinked, pretty dark eyes displaying almost comedic shock. 

"...Are you really going blind?" Herrah asked, more gently. That shook the Root from her stupor.

"I believe so, yes. Clouds already plague my vision, sometimes, though I believe it will be a long time yet before I lose my sight fully. Gods or no, everything eventually fades with time."

"I suppose so. Even the infection did. Perhaps it hadn't been enough of a substitute for what Radiance once had, to combat being truly forgotten."

The Root hummed, pensive. Herrah continued.

"So, what will you do?"

"...I do not know, still. I love my Wyrm, but I admit the perspective you've offered me has convinced me it would in fact be cathartic to throttle him a little."

"That's the way!"

She smiled a little, tired. "We _do_ need to talk, don't we. Plainly and without pretense, and only once he gathers the courage to apologize to me."

"Sounds to me like you do know what to do, already."

She nods. "I will return to the palace. I will do better in the face of my guilt than I once would have, and perform my duties to my kingdom and our children. I know progress will happen with or without my Wyrm, but, I confess I would want for us to be equals in this, as well."

"It's certainly no sin to love someone enough that you want to see them better themselves alongside you. Even if I don't know what you see in the Wyrm. All I know is he'd do well to _earn_ all this patience."

"I intend for it. I'm… I am a mother, now, and it'd be a disservice to the children to waste anymore time. Thank you, Queen Herrah."

Herrah gave the Lady a pat on the shoulder. 

"And how's Hollow, in all this?"

"Pardon?"

"Ah. It's what Hornet calls her sibling. Is that not…?"

" 'Hollow.' " Root smiled, looking almost exasperated. "The unthinking rudeness of children can be oddly refreshing, can't it? ...I'm afraid I won't know. It's another… My Wyrm sent them off to train, under our Five Great Knights. I do not know when they will return, whether to visit or permanently."

"Of fucking course he did. Oh--Hornet's asleep, don't worry."

"...Are you certain? We caught her, many times, exploring the castle long after bedtime."

"Hm. Did you stick her in one of your bug beds? That's no good, she likes to nest. Maybe try tucking her in, next time."

The Lady nods. Herrah thinks back to the child's letter that she promised to have sent off after bed, and eyes a stack of silk-woven parchment leftover. 

"...Hey. I have an idea."

-

Well, the new recruit certainly wasn't what Dryya had expected. About as tall as Ogrim, and they weren't even full grown yet, judging by the dull color of their shell that spoke of an upcoming molt. They were mute, and seemed uninterested in communication in general, with eyes that made you feel like you were staring into an open grave, all grim in their emptiness. And, they'd arrived to the knights' barracks wearing flowers as horn accessories. Everything about them was odd. 

Odder still was how Ogrim seemed to be so unsure about them. He treated them the same as any other recruit, exuberant and loud in his welcome, but Dryya had known him long enough to be able to tell something was off. Had he known them? Did something weird happen on the ride over?

Ogrim aside, Dryya soon found that she would have nothing to complain about with the recruit. Everyone had their quirks, and they often didn't matter. This was _especially_ true for the recruit, who proved to be a model trainee. They followed orders to the letter, and they never complained, showing steely stoicism in the face of inconvenience and strife that Dryya respected. And when she first tested them in a training battle, they'd surprised her. She'd actually been caught off guard by their speed and skill with a nail, and nearly _fell out of the ring_ herself! She had ceased the match, having seen all she had to, and all her reservations about the call for a squire fell to the wayside. Of course the king would send someone extraordinary, if he was going to the trouble to send them himself.

There _was_ still the matter of the recruit's actual squireship. Something pressing must have happened at the castle, because the king had sent them over very suddenly without choosing who they would train under specifically. Dryya and Ogrim talked about it some, and agreed that the recruit should get to choose. So, they would have to meet all five of them. Ogrim sent word to their companions, and Dryya made arrangements for travel. A good future-knight ought to see as much of the lands they would protect as they could, anyhow. 

Preparations took about a week, and they decided Dryya would remain at the barracks while Ogrim traveled with the not-such-a-grub. Dryya was fine with that as it was, but she noted that Ogrim seemed particularly insistent on being the one to travel with them. He said it was only because he wanted the fresh air, and needed to stretch. Dryya kept her doubts to herself. 

In that week, they received more "letters from the palace". Those had increased in frequency to the point that she never bothered opening them, but, perhaps she ought to start again, after what happened with the squire thing. She _groaned_ at the prospect of having to read through more drivel from the rich folks high up in their towers, about how "she _had_ to make exceptions," or "training so hard couldn't possibly be _expected_ of them," or "we'll tell the king on you for throwing me into the flood water." Blah blah blah. 

She had the brilliant idea to shove the letter reading off to the recruit, as one of their duties. That's what some knights had squires for, right? To pawn off a little unpleasant busywork? 

She handed off this week's stack of mail to them, and at least apologized for it, patting them on the back. 

"Bring me back anything relevant. If it's got any kind of threat in it, it's garbage, and I don't want to see it unless the coward who penned it actually included a challenge to _duel._ Beware forgeries. You know how to tell when a seal isn't legitimate, right? I'll give you some copies of real ones from the king and queen."

The recruit had looked down at the stack of letters, and pulled the few that looked to be from the palace, and an interesting looking one that didn’t look like it came from the City of Tears at all. They appeared to want to start with those. 

-

_Dear ~~Holo~~ Hollow,_

_Its me, Hornet! Mother said to practise my spelling and I said I wanted to write a letter too you._

_How are you? Plese say hi to step mother for me. I do not care about sayinge hi too the king so dont bother. Dont tell him I said that, ~~becus bacaus~~ because that would be telling on me. _

_Anyway, I wanted too ask you how too take care of flowres. Mine got mushed in my bag when I got home, and I want too know how to keep them from getting mushed so I can show everyone them. Mother says we do not have flowres in Deepnest._

_I will see you agan at your den in a few weeks, but you can visit mine when ever you want to._

_~~Sencer~~  
~~Sinseerl~~ _

_Love,_

_Princess Hornet Of Deepnest_

_-_

_My dearest child,_

_I hope this letter will be received as a happy surprise, in lieu of a startle. It may be the first of many, for I believe it befitting of a parent to correspond with their family, while they are away in service of the kingdom._

_I shall take this opportunity to apologize, then, for the belated nature of my correspondence. For so long have you been away from me in service of the kingdom, that in a way, this is only more of the same as what you were raised with. Only this time, it is not by my own choice that I cannot see you._

_Furthermore, you and I both know that it has never been your choice to bear the burdens of the kingdom as your own duties. It was your father and I who decided to place those burdens upon you, when we thought we had created something that had no will of its own to choose._

_I now understand that we only succeeded in creating someone who was robbed of many abilities to express their choices, and the presence of a will within you was something quashed rather than absent._

_Though I may apologize to you until my last breath, know that I shall not beg your forgiveness. I want to beg your understanding, but I know even that to be a cruel expectation for one's child. It can not be expected of anyone's children to completely understand about the matters and struggles of their parents, be they sovereigns, gods, or ordinary civilians. Especially here, when in truth, I believe I myself shall struggle to understand our actions for the rest of my days._

_I do not think the King truly believes you are what he says. I think he simply has it in his head that he needs to believe it, for his own sake. The least I can do for you, right now, is inform him of how wrong he is on all accounts._

_Finally, I want to leave you with the knowledge that I would never begrudge you, if you chose to cut ties with us permanently. The choice to forgive or to curse the circumstances of your birth is yours alone. Though I will continue to write, for you know me to be a wretched old thing that wishes the overdue mending of an early-doomed relationship, you are well within every right to discard my letters._

_If you've continued to read to this point, I feel I can tell you that I know you will make everyone proud. The path of a true knight is a coveted one, and I hope it will bring you happiness, should you decide to pursue it._

_I do not expect to be written in return, for I know my Wyrm to have never taught you how to write. I shall make up for that transgression, if you would like, should we see each other again._

_With love,_

_Lady Root_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really AM trying to pace myself but i get very excited about every chapter so thats Not How This Works, according to my clown brain
> 
> also, im very slowly catching up on comments. thank you all, sincerely


	7. Interlude: Letters from the Pale Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--and company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lord help me i do love me some diegetic storytelling

Dearest Queen of Deepnest,

I write to express my thanks, once again, for your aid in matters both foreign to your court and extremely informal. You would have been well within your rights to turn me away, but you showed graciousness to me in my time of need that I shall not soon forget. Should you or Deepnest ever be in need of anything in return that either I or Hallownest could offer you, you have my solemn promise that you shall receive it, if it is at all within my power.

Sincerely,  
Lady Root

-

Root,

I believe we're well past all that formality, at this point, and I'd argue we have been since the whole parenting arrangement came to pass. But if it's where your comfort zone lies, far be it from me as a fellow monarch to give you shit for it. 

As far as receiving anything in exchange for listening to you vent for a night goes, I can tell you as many times as you need to hear that it was no trouble. The affairs between Deepnest and Hallownest are business, and what transpired the other night was something only between friends. Things certainly aren't so dire here that I'd try to guilt you into paying tariffs over personal matters. 

However, if I can now officially shift gears for a moment to make this a discussion between sovereigns, I'd advise you or your Wyrm to take care in guarding the city gates closest to the fungal wilds. My scouts tell me the tension in the Mantis tribe stems from accusations of treason within their ranks, and there are whispers of a coming civil war. I myself am temporarily sealing the entrance to my realm at their border, as a precaution. 

Between you and me, I had a gut feeling something like this had long been coming. Rumor has it that during the plague, a percentage of Mantises deliberately infected themselves and those around them, in order to acquire the unnatural strength it offered to them after it killed them and brought them back. I have no idea if this is true, but I do know that at least one of the Mantis Lords themselves had been infected at some point. 

Also, Hornet says “Hello,” and has asked me to tell you she's "Sorry about the crystals." I have been ardently informed that I am absolutely not allowed to ask about "the crystals." If "the crystals" are something that'd merit a grounding, I await your next correspondence.

Your friend,  
Herrah

-

Dearest Herrah,

Thank you for the information. I shall have reinforcements deployed at our gates, and will inform my King to keep an eye on the situation from our side.

The "Affair of the Crystal Necklace" was nothing so serious as to merit any harsh punishment. A minor debacle, only, when a visiting comtesse left her necklace lying out, and the young princess decided it would be great fun to pick it apart and leave the pieces in my dresser drawer. It took us much of an afternoon to track down our master thief before she confessed, in her guilt. Truthfully, the only real consequence of it all was the bruised pride of some particularly tactless aristocrat whom the comtesse ended up trying to blame. It did get somewhat heated between those two, and so loudly.

As an aside between friends, I confess I did not care for either of them very much at all, and found the necklace itself rather ostentatious. I do not know what the comtesse paid for it, but it was in all likelihood far too much geo for whatever it was worth. A brief time-out for Hornet had seemed reasonable to me, as the affair had provided a rare afternoon of entertainment at the palace, and she had offered to help snap the pieces back together. The comtesse had politely declined. 

With love,  
Lady Root

-

Root,

I always suspected the Pale Court would be an absolute soap opera to witness. Please, keep me up to speed on whatever highborn nonsense over there next tips over into complete chaos. I remember hearing stories of how wild your fancy parties used to be, back before we'd been allies. I expect an invite, if you ever decide to take up hosting again. 

Though I couldn't promise any strict adherence to dress codes. I'm sure you found out quickly that Hornet won't be kept in white for more than five minutes. Especially if there's food involved. 

-Herrah

-

Dearest Herrah,

It's actually sort of funny that you mention my parties. I do have plans in place for the near future, though they are nebulous at the moment. Are you still in touch with the other former Dreamers? I should like to invite them and their loved ones, as well. Perhaps a reunion under happier circumstances than we've all yet shared would be a pleasant change of pace. I'm afraid I've had little success in reaching either of them as of late, however.

With love,  
Lady Root

-

Ceaseless Watcher,

I bet you thought you'd heard the last of me with the fall of the infection. I'm sure you'll forgive the intrusion of deeplings into your comedically high tower to deliver this message, as we both know exactly how hard you can be to reach when you want to be left alone.

Well, I sincerely hope you've enjoyed your solitude as much as possible, because you're going to be summoned by your queen sometime soon to attend a festivity she's throwing. And you're going to go, because there is no shortage of spiders at my disposal who are willing to sneak into the City, ready to flaunt their climbing skills, and test their prowess at crawling into locked observatories through the walls and pipes. 

Plus, your beloved king will be there. Wouldn't that just be the chance of a lifetime, to get to be in the same room with him during an informal event? Perhaps he'll even say hi.

All the best,  
Queen Herrah of Deepnest

-

Queen of Beasts,

Please stop sending spiders into my tower. 

Your faithful guest,  
Watcher Lurien

-

Archivist,

It's been longer than it feels, hasn't it? I'm sure running your library has kept you just as busy as Deepnest has kept me. 

But as much as you live and breathe your work, I hope I'm not the first to remind you since the infection that you need to take breaks from it. Though we were both once meant for something akin to immortality, you are indeed a fallible creature in need of rest and nourishment just the same as anyone else. And, it just so happens that I have the perfect opportunity for you to get out of the library for a bit. Remember those stories you used to tell us about the aristocratic galas the queen threw that you couldn't get out of? Admit it, it'd be a fun time to get to shit-talk the highborns of Hallownest together at the next one. 

And it seems there will be a next one sometime soon. Are you in?

Your friend and ex co-martyr,  
Herrah

PS: I hope my messenger didn't give your cute little assistant too much of a scare. I hear your mail has been piling up again, and we both know I'm not one to be ignored. 

-

Beast,

I admit I take some delight in getting to correct you, yet again, about how my archive is not a library. "Research center" would be closer, but, I believe I am going to continue to go with "archive."

Normally, I might have rejected your offer, though I suspect you were being facetious in phrasing it like you were giving me a choice. As it stands, though, I think I might have business at the palace fairly soon, and attending the White Lady's shindig would admittedly give me an opportunity to kill two squits with one stone. And truthfully, the idea of getting to observe as you intimidate the very life out of the entire noble class in that ballroom sounds like reason enough to go on its own.

I would like to dutifully inform you that weapons are incredibly ill-advised at any gala, and are more or less forbidden by social protocol. However, I can speak only for Hallownest and the rules made for its people, and could not possibly speak for whatever customs any foreign visitor from another kingdom may follow instead. It’d be horribly rude to suppress the cultural norms of our guests, after all.

I would also like to inform you now that my very cute assistant often screens my letters while I am busy with work, and he appears to have suffered no grievous damage from the fright.

See you soon,  
Monomon

-

Monomon,

Oh, I'm definitely bringing my needle. And my young child, who I probably won’t allow her own for the party, but who will definitely end up finding other ways to entertain herself without it. And I'm sure you'd be welcome to bring your "very cute assistant" along with you, as well. I'm also sure the two of you will figure out the logistics of dancing together just fine. 

Think it'd be too much to bring a few jars of acid with you, as well?

-Herrah

-

Herrah,

He did not end up reading your last message, despite your efforts. I humbly request that you shove it.  
However, I will see about the tubes of acid. I can always use some light reading material while I'm out.

Monomon

-

My King,

Research on what became of the infection continues steadily apace. Few of my own students and faculty had personally come down with the plague and survived, so primary sources of experience are unfortunately scarce. We've put out a call for infection survivors to come in for interviews and lab tests, but I'm afraid we've had no success in pinning down anyone willing to both come to the archive, and talk about their experiences. I admit that, to an outsider, the prospect of reliving one’s near death experience coupled with the vague threat of “testing” must be a frightening combination. I also suspect that most in the kingdom simply want to put the infection behind them, or forget it ever happened. 

Some did briefly offer what falling into their comas had been like for them. They spoke of visions and dreams, of searing light that wanted to burst from their skulls, and of an uncontrollable sense of pulsing rage that strengthened the longer they remained asleep. When asked about waking up, some offered that they felt as though it was all so intense that it had simply “burnt itself out,” and released them. Others spoke of hearing screams, and of a spike in intensity and incoherency of their visions that nearly drove them mad before they finally awoke. It appears that many who'd progressed that far and survived still relive their trauma in what little sleep they now get. 

While enlightening and deeply tragic, I can think of little practical use the experiences of survivors will offer us in our search for the Old Light, if they all turn out to be much of the same. We're continuing now with analyses of the orange discharge that the infection created in its victims, and with studies of the few texts left behind by the Moth tribe that weren't completely destroyed in the desolation of their kind.

Regards,

Monomon, Head Archivist of Hallownest

-

Root, 

I have my ways of being convincing. Consider the Dreamers' attendances fully secured. All I ask in return for my services is the solemn promise that there will be enough drink present at this gathering to allow for top-quality entertainment.

-Herrah

-

Dearest Herrah,

I give you my word that libations shall be dutifully secured. I will correspond further once I have more concrete news to share. 

With Love,  
Lady Root

-

Esteemed Teacher,

Know that your findings thus far have in fact been useful to me. I can promise you that there is precious little information currently known about the infection and the Radiance, outside of what we already had at the height of plague. Anything new learned at all shall be progress, no matter how small or irrelevant it may at first seem. 

I foresee an upcoming struggle shall rise through the wilds, though I cannot say yet if it will reach the Fog Canyon. I am dispatching guards to protect you and your work as a precaution, for the Archive is essential to Hallownest and its preservation, and your current research efforts must go unhindered. Have your students travel in groups if they must travel at all, and proceed with caution. 

This mystery must be solved, for the good of the kingdom, to prevent any resurgence or other threat to us. Gods do not simply fade away without direct action taken against them. Many cannot even fade by their own choice, and even then, I know deep within my light that the Radiance did not choose to forfeit her struggle. She would have sooner burned all of civilization to the ground and fed upon its remains to sustain her rage, and indeed had every intention of doing so.

Should you and your research have any need of further resources, you have my willing compliance.

Sovereign God and Servant to all,  
P.K.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am actually sorry about the references this time but also, i had to


	8. Virtue of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of five. 
> 
> More than just one prominent Hallownest figure's old, ill-advised experiments went very very poorly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a brief and nondescript mention of suicide, contained to the paragraph that starts like "The height of the plague had been a dark, dark time." also, discussion of the stuff that happened in the soul sanctum in general throughout pk's pov.
> 
> EDIT: oh and also PV has exhibits symptoms of a straight up panic attack. it didnt cross my mind to tag that just in case until a couple hours later, sorry for that delay!

Ogrim had spoken very well of the other Five, as he and the vessel traversed the city together on foot. He spoke of Hegemol and his humor, of Ze'mer and her stories, of Dryya and her wisdom, and of Isma and her strength. And Isma and her kindness. And of her smarts. The vessel got the sense that Ogrim and Isma must be rather close. 

It seemed like the further the two traveled into the city, the more bugs there were out and about. The Palace had started to feel more crowded before it left, but there were so _many_ people out here, and it got so loud. It genuinely had no idea just how many people...existed, it supposed. It could never have imagined _this._ It guessed it made sense that it couldn't imagine very much at all. The vessel had been meant to know so little. Really, the busy streets definitely held fewer people than there were white stitches in that one landscape tapestry it often stood guard in front of, and there probably were fewer people in front of it than there were tiles in the throne room, so why did it feel like so _much?_

_Do not feel. That's impossible, now. It was everywhere, and the vessel thought it might choke on it all. So many new colors, new sounds, new things, and none of them will stay still long enough to let it count. The rain beat down so fast and so randomly all over its mask and shell and would allow it no reprieve from constant touch._

It was with an odd, stuttering horror that the vessel realized it _missed_ its tiny room back at the palace. The fog and emptiness terrified it now, when it remembered them for too long, made it want to run and shake and rattle its head right off its shell. But they were still familiar. They were quiet. 

But quiet was _frightening,_ now that it had seen some alternatives, _(happy chirping chatter from a pale little thing in a red cloak about things in the world she found interesting, jolly maxims of honor and friendship from a new tutor who looked at it so kindly, secret conversations lining the hallways of the palace with bright blooms and sweet smells)_ but was _this_ extreme really any better? It felt worse, right now. "Do not feel" currently felt like advice for survival, and so it tried, once again, to follow its mantras. 

_Do not think. Do not process. Do not listen. Do not fear. Do not feel. Do not do not do not do not do not do not do not do not do not do not..._  
"--ight? Oh, dear. Can you hear me? Breathe, young friend."

It appeared that they'd found Hegemol, at some point. It also appeared that they'd both stopped in front of him, near some large gate opening to an odd, damp looking place with no buildings. The vessel could now vaguely recall the voices of Hegemol and Ogrim speaking to it. Asking questions, maybe?

Had the fog caused it to ignore some order it would not hear? It felt beside itself--in a literal sense, actually. It was watching Hegemol--yes, the huge knight in front of it definitely fit Ogrim's descriptions--grip its shoulders with a gentleness it never would have expected from such a fearsome looking warrior, but it felt like it was watching from somewhere off to the side. This was some other vessel, that was trembling and displaying every one of its flaws to two of the greatest figures of legend, and they'd definitely inform the king about it, and the only step below being cast off from its home must be getting thrown away entirely--

"It's alright. Breathe in, and count to ten."

…Ten what?

Hegemol guided it by tapping with the hand on its shoulder. It had its order, and one single thing to focus on to help follow it. 

"Good, now do that again for the exhale, please."

This process repeated a few times. The novelty of counting something completely abstract, which seemed to somehow slow and sharpen the world around its face again, after some time. As much as it'd tried all its life to silence any emotions, the vessel was pretty well acquainted with shame, at this point.

This was like shame, but a bit different. It felt… silly. It couldn't articulate why. It knew logically that the only thing it'd done for the last few _(how many?)_ minutes was follow silently, and then stand very still. It had been shaking, but it knew from experience that most people never could see that. Standing still and silent was expected, it was normal. So why did it feel like so much more had just transpired? 

Mortifyingly, its embarrassment must have shown somewhere, maybe in the set of its shoulders, because Hegemol began to reassure it with a gentle pat, before finally stepping back.

"It's quite alright, that kind of thing can happen to the best of us. Even I've fallen victim to panic in the past--Ah, I hope I wasn't the cause of the attack! My sincerest apologies, I guess I've been known to intimidate on first glance--"

"Whoa there, my friend, calm yourself before you follow their lead. I suspect our young recruit was simply overwhelmed by the newness of travel. Such tall structures and bustling crowds can be daunting when one is unused to it." Ogrim supplied. 

The vessel noted how soft-spoken Hegemol was. So much so that even Ogrim's natural volume went down a few notches, as if he ought to match his friend's. As much as the vessel still sort of warred with the urge to dig a deep hole somewhere and bury itself after its behavior, it found this to be a nice change of pace. It took stock of its surroundings. It could see some other guards around, but no throngs of people or shining towers or endless tap tap tapping of raindrops on its carapace followed it here. 

"Ah, I understand. For the king to send us a bug of such apparent prowess that we've never heard of-- it makes sense that you'd have lived in some seclusion somewhere." Hegemol held out a hand. The vessel did not flinch. "Well met, friend. I am Hegemol, acting chief guard of the city, and ah, candidate for your possible mentor, I suppose."

The vessel stared. The silence passed for about six seconds before Hegemol put his hand down. 

"Right you are!" Ogrim loudly declared. "We mean to make a journey of introducing them to our numbers and shared land, and allow them their own choice of which one of us to train under. Have you some wisdom to share with our squire-in-training, gentle friend, on the virtues of knighthood?" 

_The vessel_ would choose? No one had informed it of that. What did he mean _it_ would choose?

Hegemol hummed for a moment, shifting in his armored shell. Chitin clinked against itself. "The virtues of knighthood are basic things to us, as it should be. But if there were one which I would wish to impart on you, above the others... For me, it'd be the virtue of faith. 

Whatever faith means is up to the knight in question; faith in one's fellows, faith in one's self, faith in the people, or in our liege. I have every faith in our people, that they are good at heart. And of course, I'll trust my fellow knights time and time again with my life. This virtue may also inspire faith _in_ you from those around you, which is good. The people should always be able to trust in their protectors, hm? But even just on its own, it does tend to make one's life a bit less frightening. Be on your guard, sure, for we would not have our jobs without fiends and foes, but in any situation where you feel you can't trust much: trust, at least, in yourself."

"A fine lesson! Fine indeed." Ogrim nodded.

The vessel stared up at him while he talked, at attention. The speech had been unexpected. Knighthood was starting to mean something far different then what it had originally thought. Then again, knighthood for the vessel--that is to say, one day becoming The Hollow Knight--mostly just meant its sacrificial imprisonment for an eternity longer than anyone here would live. It supposed it had been a unique case. The Pale King had only needed one Hollow Knight.

...Had it had "faith", then, that the seal would have worked and saved everyone? It had… actually never put a single thought into that. Obviously. Its fate was only what was commanded, as everything had been. 

No, faith meant the implicit presence of doubt, and the _Pure Vessel_ did not doubt. There had been no faith involved. It wouldn't have mattered for it to actively trust or distrust the process at any point, for the seal would have been done to it regardless. A gear is not asked to have faith in the mechanism, as it is not made to fit anywhere else, either way.

(The letters from its mother and sister sat heavy in its cloak. They reminded it of how things could change. Little by little, but still sometimes too much at once.)

"Your stoicism rivals that of the fountains in town. One might even describe you as 'stony'." Hegemol said finally. Ogrim's laugh boomed so suddenly that guards several dozen feet away flinched with their weapons at ready. The vessel watched the two knights in open confusion, wondering if it had gotten lost in its head again at one point and only just now regained context. 

-

The Pale King had been preparing to venture out to the Soul Sanctum, when he was informed that it had already been destroyed long ago, and was now only rubble. How had _that_ slipped through the cracks?

The loss of life was always tragic, but, he would not pretend that the destruction of the Sanctum had been a bad thing. He did not know the extent of the experiments the master of that place had been performing with soul, but he knew that, at one point, he had been written from the Sanctum to be _asked his permission_ to steal bugs who would not be missed for their research. Such resources, they'd said, might accelerate their search for a cure for the infection tenfold. 

The king had ordered them to shut down all operations, and had told them in no uncertain terms that studies on living bugs would be condemned at best, and treason at worst. Extraction of the precious soul he'd given his subjects was, after all, just gruesome murder tinged with blasphemy. What in the world had the researchers been expecting when they'd written him?

Unfortunately, with the rise of the infection, he had never found the time to shut the place down completely, though he stripped them of all funding and resources that he could. He had no doubt in his mind that at least a few of them continued their research in secret, backed by their own means, or perhaps even by sick wealthy bugs who funneled their own geo into the first thing that promised them a slim hope of survival, without caring too much what it meant. 

The king supposed more than just a _few_ bugs had continued their unholy work. The page who'd informed him that the Sanctum was gone now spoke of how the remains of that place still smelled so strongly of death, that no one would go near it. 

"How long ago," the king asked the youth, "was the Sanctum destroyed? By what means?"

"It happened with the end of the plague, your majesty. I didn't witness it, but many people in the area spoke of fire, or hearing explosions."

He dismissed them. It seemed he would still get to make his trip, and research of his own could still be done. 

The king left with a quick word to his retainers to inform the queen of his whereabouts if she asked. He was not avoiding her; a king did not _avoid_ his queen. He was simply being kept very busy doing important work for the kingdom. He donned a heavy robe and veil to disguise his crown and mute his glow, and informed the palace stag that he meant to visit the city storerooms. 

-

He got the feeling he was the only living creature to set foot anywhere near the Sanctum since it'd burned down. The very top of the tower where it nearly reached the caverns ceiling had been blown off completely, now open and flooding with rain and ashen sludge, and much of the inside was inaccessible for all the charred rubble blocking the entryways. Whatever end this place met must have been spectacular. The Pale King supposed things never _would_ die quietly when hubris was involved. 

... Anyway.

He searched, alone, for some kind of sign of what became of the would-be mages, tried to see if he could find their bodies in the destruction. Perhaps the head researcher himself succumbed to the infection, and blew everything to smithereens in Her rage. It seemed the likeliest outcome, the more he looked around. All signs pointed to some explosive calamity, and then the resulting fire dealing with anything left. The king could hardly distinguish remains, when he chanced upon them. He found wrung out, rubbery things that looked more like deflated balloons than any type of bug he'd ever seen. None resembled any of the researchers he could remember seeing, and certainly not the Sanctum master. Either their bodies were all stuck behind the inaccessible parts of the Sanctum until he ordered a clean up crew, or they'd somehow burnt so hot they were entirely reduced to ash.

Neither theory was helpful, but one was definitely far more likely. He made a note to have a crew assembled to clear the place up, and report anything strange back to him. But for now, this was just another dead end. And probably would also be another zoning nightmare, down the line when this tower was rebuilt to once again be inhabitable.

The king took a moment to peer out one of the windows overlooking the city. It was streaked black in many places with char, and visibility was further cut down by the rain, and by the gloom far below. He could see nothing of his City from here, and it was only by noticing he could see no lamplight from within any shops or residences that he realized how late it must be. 

The king couldn't see inside the Watcher's tower from here, but knew Lurien would probably still be up painting a while longer. Monomon likely wasn't sleeping, either. She was infamous for her habit of working herself haggard, until the errors she made in her exhaustion hindered her too much to let her continue. The king had no idea how Deepnest measured their waking and sleeping cycles, but still wondered if Herrah had put Hornet to bed, yet. (In the short few days she'd stayed at the Palace, she'd slept so fitfully. Was this true for her at her preferred home, as well?) The Pure Vessel would be retired to a shared barrack somewhere, right now, resting on command to awake for training. He assumed. The queen would…

Well. He supposed he had no idea what the White Lady would be doing with her nights, now. The thought tired him, so he pushed it away, and headed back for the stag station. There was still more to be done before he could rest for the day. Orange blights and moth fur would taunt him in his dreams, otherwise, as they so often did nowadays. 

(But he knew the dreams weren't really _Her._ If they were, one of them would have already shorn the flesh from the other's husk. She never could invade him that way, anyway. Neither of them held much power over the other's domain. No, _he'd_ won the love of her followers fair and square, he hadn't had to _twist_ their minds against her in his rise to power. The infection had been a dirty trick from a depraved creature that nearly cost everyone everything. He would do everything he could to continue undermining her, even if she really had disappeared for good.)

The king had returned to his workshop, and had been up at his desk all night before he'd finally noticed all the ash that clung to his robes. How messy. How abhorrently _unobservant._ Looking further, he saw some had gotten between his wings, staining the membrane. It'd be uncomfortable to clean off, but walking around like this was certainly not an option. He sighed, and resigned himself to head to his bedchamber for some time. He did not spare any looks to the various pots and vases of flowers on the way there, which had recently fallen to slight neglect. 

The Pale King's chambers were not empty when he arrived. This technically shouldn't ever come as a surprise, because they weren't just his. 

(The White Lady's continued presence here used to surprise him back when they were first married. She often joked that it seemed as though he thought she'd simply disappear, or fade into nothing, at any second. He never let her know how much truth that assertion had actually held, back then. Though he was now older and more acquainted with companionship, the scene before him was still familiar, in a way.)

She appeared to be writing something, seated at the narrow white desk across the room where his own documents often piled up. She _must_ have noticed him walk up, absorbed in her writing or no. Her roots ran deep through their kingdom, attuning her well with the life within it. It was nigh impossible to surprise her. 

So then, she was going to make him speak first. It was either announce himself, then likely sit there in awkward silence with her for a while as he rubbed ash off his wings and she finished whatever she was doing, or pretend he also hadn't seen her, suddenly remember he had somewhere else to be, abscond back to the safety of his workshop, and hide like a coward.

The Pale King thought himself no coward. Steeled by how preposterous that the idea of hiding from his wife and their shared room sounded, after he thought about it for more than a second, the King walked in. 

"My Lady." 

She spared him only a glance. He did not miss how her eyes had flicked to the grime clinging to the hem of his robes. 

"Your majesty. How fares the investigation?" Her tone was one of polite interest.

"It progresses, slowly as any other affair for kingdom." 

She hummed in assent. She seemed to write a lot, lately, from what little he saw of her. Who was she corresponding with? Had she re-established her social circle, so quickly? Were they plans for her gardens? The King felt it wrong to ask her anything. She could feign politeness, but he had been the one to cross the line, the last time they'd spoken. He should stay quiet.

"Did you know the Soul Sanctum was destroyed, some time ago?" Came out of him before he could finish his thought. 

"Oh? Had it been pillaged during the plague?"

"I use the word 'destroyed' as literally as I can. Much of the tower that housed it is in charred ruins. The top spire where its master would conduct his research is gone completely. I suspect he was responsible, infected and maddened, and with his unnatural reserves of soul power aiding him."

The White Lady hummed. "Maybe. I am afraid I do not have it in my heart to call that a pity. It sounded a ghastly place, by all accounts shared with me. Do you believe the rumors, then, that the Sanctum had been responsible for the epidemic of disappearances alongside the infection?"

The height of the plague had been dark, dark times. When news spread that his subjects were disappearing en masse, no one had really looked too closely. It was common knowledge that the Blue Lake and the Mantis village had garnered some popularity as destinations for those who knew that they'd soon die in their sleep, and come back drooling abominations. The Pale King remembers learning that the Mantises had even put up a sign, in welcome to all of Hallownest's despondent souls. 

"...I do not know. But it would be naive of me to expect the Sanctum Master had actually ceased his unlawful research after I'd commanded him to. For many, the desperation of the infection took precedence over my own power."

"That had been the goal," she affirmed. 

The Pale King searched his things for any spare cloth he could use as a washcloth. He found one, then had a retainer passing by their door fetch him a basin of water. The king set to work, shedding the soiled robe and trying to scrub char from the tips of his wings. They could bend so much, and were so damnably thin at the edges. It was uncomfortable, meticulous work, but necessary.

The two continued their separate work in silence. An unfortunate side effect of the mindlessness of the king's task was that it allowed his thoughts to wander, the way simple busywork with one's hands often did. He tried to use this time as productively as he could, and think on what little he could glean from his research, see if he couldn't connect any dots in hindsight. But there seemed to be so little. And he'd been at it for days, already, without rest. He would not let himself feel that discomfort, but found that frustration and exhaustion would rear their ugly heads at him when he tried to think back on his project at all. 

So he found his mind wandering, however unwanted, to those first days with the White Lady as his queen. They'd married for love, of course; they were both powerful and immortal, what other force could possibly convince two gods to pledge themselves to one another? The need for heirs? They _had_ no need, neither of them particularly planned on dying, and if they did, whatever would kill a ruling god would certainly kill the kingdom as well, and there'd be nothing left for any progeny to rule. An alliance? Their domains already played well together. The sparkling roots of life and the shining light of mind went hand in hand within their higher beings, and were often worshiped in tandem by those beings. Neither domain threatened the other.

No, marriage was not something that would be in either of their interests for any reason other than if they _wanted_ to. And they had. Their minds and powers had impressed one another. They shared dreams for their worshipers, and for the future. They'd courted, they'd fallen, and their union had felt like such a stroke of unparalleled _luck._ For a god to find an equal who they didn't clash with, who they cared for, and who cared for them in return, was astronomically unlikely. The queen had taken that fact in stride. The king had almost been waiting for the other shoe to drop, but soon decided it'd be a fool waste not to simply let them be happy. The Kingsoul charm that'd materialized from their wedding was split to be shared between them, for ruling together from there had only been common sense.

Perhaps he'd been right to be apprehensive. Love was unlikely, but hardship and tragedy were unavoidable, in lives so long as theirs. The infection had been unprecedented, but looking back, he should have expected _some_ backlash from the Radiance, who'd made it very clear that she saw his presence as usurpation. He'd have never guessed that she was so powerful--it had been so _easy_ to gain the devotion of her supposed followers. _She_ was to blame for all this, not _him._

Clearly, the moth goddess of Old Light, ruler of the dreamscape, was responsible for why it was now so awkward to talk to his wife. This was the logical conclusion to this line of thinking. That the Radiance somehow forced him to make the decision to lash out during a game of chess over the semantics of what their child could and couldn't do. Right.

_Absolutely fantastic, Wyrm._

"...I have been avoidant."

"You have."

"And I have, perhaps, exhibited a display of dramatics un-befitting of royalty."

"What is nobility, if not partly a lifelong show of hysterics over imagined regulations?"

"Our… issues, are not imagined."

"How so?"

"I hurt you."

"...You did."

The two did not look at each other. Not cowards, indeed. 

"There is much I need to apologize for. This is as true for you as it is for the kingdom."

"Is your rampant chase of a dead goddess not something of an apology to your people, borne of guilt?"

The king stayed quiet for a moment. 

"...Perhaps it might be. Then let me put them all aside, for a moment, to apologize only to you. I do not know where I may start, but, I bid you allow me to try."

"You may," she answered primly. The king let out a huff and narrowly avoided a tired smile.

"Lashing out was wrong, as was accusing you of jealousy. Even the implication of such pettiness is incredibly belittling of you, and was frankly embarrassing behavior on my end." The king had begun picking at the threads along the edge of his washcloth. He ceased the behavior as soon as he noticed it. 

"I know you to love the gendered child in earnest. And… it seems I ought not ignore that you've garnered some new affection for the Pure Vessel, though I cannot understand it."

"Your understanding was something I had _attempted_ to facilitate during our talk." 

"... You have my ear, now."

The king heard her stand, and then seat herself behind him. He stiffened. 

"Hand me that. You will not be able to reach much of this on your own." 

Cowed, he passed along the cloth, set the basin beside them, and sat very still. Some small part of him remained impressed that she always managed to put herself at some advantage in social situations. Few could put the King of Hallownest in any position of vulnerability. Fewer still would survive doing so.

She spoke up after a moment, working the ash away gently.

"It is as I said. Our powers aren't so easily separated from our own creations. A bug given your gift of mind may lose much of it, should they venture into the lifeless wastes beyond our land, but they are not guaranteed to lose it entirely. Outliers exist."

The king reluctantly agreed. He did not _like_ it when pieces of him within others would leave the kingdom. Those who couldn't cling to those pieces would have them seep out, to be wasted in the howling winds. The queen continued.

"The breath of life I am so in tune with is present in all creatures, sentient or not. I know the plants of my gardens to live in some way, and the simple beasts of the wilds and our subjects to live in another way. The same way I know that, and can feel it within the roots of my kingdom, I now know the Pure Vessel to be truly alive. I had always thought I could feel their presence because they were of me, but that inference had been short sighted."

"I can... agree with some of that. The vessel can die, and so it must be alive."

"It is more than that, my Wyrm. If I can sense the persistence of my gift within the vessel, how is it you cannot sense your own, as obvious as it has become to me in my own brief reunion with it?"

The king remained still, and the queen remained steady. 

"I am not lying to you, when I insist that I cannot sense anything within it. The void is a force unlike either of us, and from the interaction I once had with the abyss, it is all I can sense from the vessel." He spoke measuredly, and did not think about the call of the sea.

"I might fear your proximity to the void to have tainted your clarity around it."

"The void taints whatever it touches." He picked at a loose thread in the sheets, now. 

"Our lights shine brilliant, my Wyrm. Ours is an existence that keeps darkness at bay, and our civilization once flourished for it. Our child yet lives, and they have a will and mind all their own."

"How do you know?"

"I merely witnessed it."

"Root--"

 _"Wyrm,"_ her hands did not still nor falter, "your efforts produced a creature not without expression, but without the ability to _express_ outwardly. There is much one can train themself to do or not do, given an idea instilled, and a lifetime to practice it."

He bristled, inwardly, at the accusation. The Pure Vessel couldn't be what she claimed. What implications that had for him, and the way he'd raised it, were…

"What is there to be done, then, if you speak the truth?" He spoke carefully.

"Reconciliation, perhaps. Though I expect you may need time to reconcile the _idea_ with yourself, first."

"And if I cannot?"

"I would want that you had _tried,_ at least."

They fell quiet again, at that. The king imagined they both remembered at once how she had tried all of this, again, for him. 

He nodded, mutely. He would try. 

"You went to the Soul Sanctum directly?" She asked, eventually.

"I did."

"What did you think to find there that scouts couldn't in your stead?"

"There are some things I need to know for myself."

"Only _some?"_

The wingtip in her hand flickered. "Hm. I'm not so obstinate. I trust my council when they tell me construction has started on a tower, and I trust your spies to have gathered up-to-date information on the other realms."

"My _diplomats,_ you mean."

"As you say."

The audible smile in her voice eased his rigidity, somewhat. Well. In for a geo, in for a stack.

"Do you regret coming back?" He asked. 

"No," came the immediate response. "I confess the world had come to be quite small, when my scope of it was reduced only to the gardens. Flowers and vines live and die in predictable cycles. I've found the potential for growth here, though, to be much more engaging."

"...And here, for me, the palace had begun to feel so very large, during the infection. To speak nothing of the kingdom itself." 

"Do they still?"

"At times."

She seemed to finish helping him with the ash stains to her satisfaction, and returned the cloth, moving a bit to sit at his side. "It is fortunate, then, that as the days go by, you bear less of it alone than you once had." 

His hand found her's, gentle, before he could talk himself into shying away again. 

"So it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway this was a hell of a long one and im off to go play paladins for the next 12 hours


	9. Virtue of Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two teachers. More semantics.

The next destination for Ogrim and the vessel was Isma’s grove. It had been informed that she had a peculiar setup just below the city, where she did some sort of work with plants and acid. It had little concept of greenery, save for the flowers its mother brought into the palace. It had been to her gardens once or twice when it was a hatchling, and now remembers shocking, vivid colors and massive, floating beasts with impossibly long tails and hundreds of legs. It knew these memories to be exaggerated by childhood, of course. It’d been so small, once, and had rarely ever gotten the chance to see anything new. 

While not as grand as the vessel remembered the queen's gardens to be, Isma's grove was still a sight to behold. So _different_ from anything in or near the palace, right down to how the air felt. It was warm, and heavy, and the ground was soft. Some sort of liquid bubbling in lakes around their pathways seemed to contribute to the heat, and offered a steady burbling backdrop that it found it didn't mind. It was certainly easier to get used to than the unexpected rise and fall of a thousand voices and lives that had seemed to surround them all at once in the city. This felt like quiet, but not too much of it. Another newly discovered middle ground.

Fruit and other vegetation grew all along vines and brush, though most were still small, and an unripened green. And it was _so_ green here. The palace had been much of only one color as well, but this almost had another… mood, to it, maybe. Green did not _feel_ like white. 

_(Do not feel.)_

_(No, it's fine, right? This isn't so bad.)_

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ogrim announced as it watched over the lake. "Mind the acid, of course! Even if you're a hardier sort of creature, it tends to stain the shell. Though that's something of a best case scenario."

The two made their way deeper into the grove. Isma's dwelling would be found at its heart, via a doorway overgrown with huge leaves set into a rock face, open to the shallow cave within. Ogrim made himself known with a knock on its side, and a "Come in!" had them following. Isma appeared to be training, but seemed to know who to expect before either of them saw her. Many people seemed to notice Ogrim before they saw him, now that the vessel thought about it. She greeted him with a quick hug, and they exchanged the prerequisite enthused questions about how the other had been. The vessel, meanwhile, took note of Isma's dwelling. Not small, but crowded with things. Tablets and yet more greenery and a small armory of weapons. The place looked well lived-in and well loved by someone who was comfortable decorating her space to fit her. The vessel was  
ushered in with Ogrim's normal gusto.

"So, you're the newest in our numbers? You do look strong, but still so young. It's a pleasure to meet you." She examined it, and punctuated her greeting with a little bow. This, the vessel knew how to return. 

"They're hardly among the youngest we've had training at the barracks! And already lethal with their nail, if Dryya's praise is anything to go by." Ogrim puffed, seeming, oddly, proud.

"Well, if _Dryya_ offers praise, they must really be something! I know it's a tedious walk here from the barracks; have a seat, both of you. I've got coffee brewing, if you'd like?" 

Ogrim seemed amenable, and the vessel's silent stillness was taken as assent. The two knights chatted some more, something about Isma’s experiments, a subject she seemed excited about. Something about acid, filtration, vine longevity… it all went very much over the vessel's head, and it found its attention drawn to a small, simple vase of flowers on a nearby end table. It thought for a moment, making sure it got their words right. The large star-shaped blooms for courage, arranged together with the proud little trumpets that meant honor, or maybe strength of character. And, notably, interspersed with a few unassuming blossoms with pale, curling petals; symbols for a love both secret and sweet. The syntax of this particular spray came to the vessel unbidden. 

It nearly jolted when Isma set a cup in front of it, and took the drink in hand feeling somewhat guilty. Whether it was around anyone who understood it was listening or not, eavesdropping in on conversations that did not concern it never sat right with it. Isma unfortunately seemed to catch it staring.

"Oh, you like the flowers?" She smiled, "Ogrim said he got them directly from the queen's own gardens. I've had little luck growing my own, but the fruit trees really don't need to be competing for nutrients in the soil, anyhow."

"They seem to share a fondness for vegetation with you," Ogrim noted, sipping his own drink. "Our young recruit came to us dressed in their own decorative style, though I'm afraid their flowers have long since shriveled at the barracks." 

"Oh? I think you may like Ze'mer, then. She grows things from her homeland that you can't find anywhere in Hallownest. Not even the Queen _herself_ can grow Ze'mer's favorite flower, rare and delicate as it is. I'm sure she'd be happy to show you." 

The vessel actively perked up, at that. 

"Our mysterious friend's dwelling is actually going to be our next and final visitation! ...Er, you wouldn't happen to know if she's actually _home_ this week, would you?" 

Isma hid a grin, poorly. "I'm afraid I don't. You may have a better chance at catching her en route to the Mantis village, though I wouldn't recommend it. Honestly, it might not be fair to put her in the running, given her current… preoccupied lifestyle," Isma suggested.

"But she'd have so much to teach, I'm sure, if she would like to! It's only right that each one of us gets a fair chance to share in our wisdom." Ogrim nodded once, resolute. 

"I suppose you're right. Though I do think I should mention that I recently tried to ask her how her day was, and she just sort of pretended not to hear me. I'm just grateful that her elderly-baulder-like defense mechanism doesn't carry over into her combat style."

Ogrim snorted. The vessel made no move to drink, and just let the heat from its mug seep into its hands. 

"At any rate, have you any advice to share with our recruit? A snippet of wisdom, perhaps, from the strongest of our numbers?” Ogrim leaned in, eager. One could almost hear Isma’s eyeroll. The vessel mentally took stock of Isma’s height compared to Hegemol’s, and attempted to run some abstract math on what Ogrim just said. 

“For _them,_ yes. How many times must I tell you I’ve nothing to teach you? The five of us are assuredly matched in ability, it’s only a matter of how we use our individual quirks to our advantages.”

“Sheer _strength_ can hardly be called a quirk! It’s a hallmark of glory in a knight, and I daresay a virtue! There is nothing in this world quite like a test of strength between two foes, who fight with honor.” Ogrim held his mug aloft as he waxed poetic, looking the absolute picture of dramatic sincerity while sitting on Isma’s tiny couch. 

Isma sighed. “I can meet you halfway. Strength the way you speak of it _is_ important in a warrior, you certainly can’t get far in our profession without training it up. But I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a virtue. The real virtue, there, is courage. I’d argue it’s the most important one for a knight, myself. True strength comes from the bravery to face what frightens you head-on, and the courage to persist against the odds, if it means protecting those you’ve sworn to. 

Now, this doesn’t mean brashly swooping in on the biggest thing wielding a nail you can find, just for the sake of it. Courage is acting in _spite_ of fear, not with the absence of it. This can be the courage to just get up every day, pick up your nail, and continue defending everything worth keeping. Or, it can be the courage to steel yourself, and tell someone important to you something they must hear. Or perhaps, just telling them how you feel, and having the bravery to accept the consequences of how that might turn out. The payoff could be well worth the risk, after all.” 

Judging by how Isma was looking at Ogrim, who was in turn looking _resolutely_ off to the side with an odd, goofy expression, the vessel got the sense that its “lesson” had lost some relevance to it somewhere down the line.

Either way, it was definitely more expected than the first had been. Knighthood and bravery were almost synonymous, from what it knew of the two. The king had been long telling it that for its sacrifice, it would be the Hollow Knight. Sacrifices were brave, on other people. On real people. Life was precious, and so nothing must be braver than the willingness to give it away for the greater good. That’s how it works. 

But, had it really been giving anything up, if it was supposed to have nothing to begin with? Had there ever been fear at all, for its circumstance? It couldn’t remember. Fear felt new, if only for its recent willingness to name it. Fear felt flawed. Did the other five feel this way? Is that what made courage such an important virtue, to feel this uncertain and unsteady _all the time,_ and to be paragons in spite of it? They couldn't. They were all so put-together. They had context in life that it never got.

 _(It then remembered to properly objectify, when thinking of the past. The Pure Vessel was making no sacrifice. The Pure Vessel_ was _the sacrifice.)_

“You look restless, young recruit. How about a sparring match?” Ogrim offered. 

“Or,” Isma countered, “if you’d prefer, I can show you how to pick the berries from the vines outside for the road ahead?” 

It sat very still, giving no indication that it was in fact looking between them. 

“Hm. You know, perhaps some food _would_ be a good call. Come along, then--what’s in bloom this season?” Ogrim stood and walked alongside Isma, and the two conversed while the vessel followed behind.

-

The Teacher’s Archive was always busy, but it recently hit a new _level_ of busy. It’d been stuffed with staff, students, researchers, and even curious walk-ins nearly since the day it’d been built, but their numbers had dwindled drastically during the infection. Monomon remembered how wrong the hallways had felt when empty, so vast and echoing and flooded with all sorts of knowledge that no one was making any use of. Now though, people both new and returning came to work and study, many of whom had gained some experience in field medicine when they’d been forced to help tend to the infected, and to those wounded by their violent tendencies. So many wanted to share their knowledge, and the archive provided somewhere to centralize those resources, for now. It looked as if Hallownest’s medicinal field would flourish, and this was a welcome bud of hope that sprang from all the desolation. 

Monomon was nothing if not cautious, however. Hope was good, and she encouraged it among her staff, and did her best to instill optimism and curiosity above all else within the researchers. But the sudden disappearance of the Radiance did bother her, if only because she wasn’t sure that they’d ever be able to figure it out, if she stayed gone. Gods aren’t particularly scientific beings. Monomon knew it’d be fruitless to, say, try and quantify the soul energy presiding in the Pale King, or try to fully understand the gift of mind his subjects had been given on a level beyond the increased activity within the brain’s neuron superhighways, and the cold words that she could assign to the chemical components that made up complex emotions. “How” and “why” something worked were two different questions. There was sometimes beauty in not knowing something fully, even if that didn’t stop her from trying. 

The attempts to break down the dried remnants of infection in old corpses yielded nothing. Even the pus stains faded slowly to nothing, after enough time. It was as if it’d never been there, but the damage the massive cysts had wrought to sinew and carapace was still very much present. It looked for all the world like the shells had just had gigantic holes blowtorched through them. 

Her assistant, dutiful and ever-curious, continued to spearhead the efforts to find something in the memories of the surviving infected that might give them an idea of where the Radiance had gone. Monomon didn’t have too much faith in that particular initiative, though she did nothing to discourage him. There were too many variables. The average bug had, of course, no idea that their sickness had been caused by a _deity._ They wouldn’t be able to point out the Radiance’s influence if asked, and the kingdom as a whole remained convinced it’d been a simple germ that just conveniently died out after it’d caused enough destruction. The dreams of the infected were also not exactly clear-cut and trustworthy sources of information. All patients had been temporarily blinded and maddened, and few of them could recall with any clarity what nonsense they’d been subjected to in their sleep, beyond the ever-present feelings of rage and fear they had all shared.

It didn’t surprise her when Quirrel approached her with more transcripts of interviews, all conducted with widely varying success. He looked focused as ever. Though she often preferred her desk, field work suited him well, and their preferred methods of study often benefitted each other.

“Anything new?” She asked, taking a particularly thick folder in a tendril. 

“Not strictly. As expected, there’s a lot of overlap between people. The infection targeted minds and wishes depending on the individual, but there are as many similarities in their aftermaths as there were in their previous symptoms.”

“As expected. A majority of the worst cases missing limbs and bits of shell, suffering emotional trauma, impaired vision, poor sleep, and unpleasant dreams.” She recited.

“Full-on _nightmares,_ madam. Many of them insisted upon the severity that distinction implicates.” 

She nodded, sympathetic. “Of course. I can’t imagine what they must now live with, having experienced what they did.” 

Quirrel remained silent, obviously lost in thought. He often was. 

“Have I received any letters, today?” She asked, mostly to pull him from his own mind.

“Oh--yes, actually, my apologies! Another from your dear friend, the Queen of Beasts.” He handed an envelope to her, cheeky. “If I may contemplate aloud, the average bug may suspect sinister things, if they were to think of regular correspondence between the spooky, fog-laden Archive and the shadowy Den of Spiders.” 

The Teacher nodded sagely, as she read. “There are indeed sinister things lurking within the unknown, for the average bug. More so now. It seems the young spider princess has recently figured out her silk.”

“I shudder for the safety of our world,” he quipped. The child’s hell-raising reputation preceded her everywhere, it seemed. The levity while they walked together was short lived, as Quirrel fell silent again. 

“One could almost hear the gears churning in your head. It sounds a bit like those large pulley machines up in the crossroads.”

It got an embarrassed chuckle out of him, a small victory. The real victory was in getting him to share his thoughts. 

“I am thinking, only, about the semantics of dreams. What purpose they serve. What makes some good, some bad, and some _so_ terrible that they need a different word entirely to encompass that.” He spoke quietly, in the way he did when his thoughts took him somewhere else.

Monomon drifted on, happy to philosophize alongside her favorite assistant. “Dreams serve much purpose. They categorize and process information from days past. They allow the mind to understand more deeply what is important to it, what desires and hopes it has for itself and the future. They contextualize fear, even if they may do so irrationally. I do think they’re important. How remarkable the mind is, to be able to offer _itself_ different perspectives than what it perceives in the waking hours.” 

“I agree completely. But, in the context of gods and realms…”

“Hmm?”

“Ah. It’s only--the Radiance can’t be entirely _gone,_ can she? We have no idea if gods truly die, but more than that…”

“Yes?” 

“Well. If dreams make up her domain, what would become of that realm without her?”

Monomon thought for a moment. 

“That’s a good question. But there are places and lands that do just fine without leaders. Though, leader isn’t the word I’d use for the Radiance’s role in the dream realm.”

“What word _would_ you use, madam?”

“I don’t yet know, though I’d like to. Harbinger, perhaps. Facilitator. Master, even, if we wanted to encompass her power over them.”

“Not a monarch, though?”

“Royal titles are arbitrary, as are the customs that come with them. Her power, though, was very, very real.”

“It may very well still be. I know _I_ still dream at night, after all.”

“A fair point.”

“Do you?”

“...Not too often.”

“Could this be, perhaps, because of a general lack of sleep?”

“Strange, I don’t recall recently sharing the specifics of my hours with you.”

“Ah, a common symptom of exhaustion.”

“I am _fine,_ Quirrel,” she insisted, fond. He held up his hands, peaceably. 

“Of course. The madam, as a scholar, would know well the detriments of poor self care on one’s beloved work, and would definitely take proper care to avoid all that.”

She rolled her eyes behind her mask, and made a mental note to eat lunch. It was already near evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hits u with a break in marital drama for 1 Good Jellyfish 
> 
> if anyones wondering, i have in fact had the whole radiance mystery arc planned out since the beginning, so thats comfortably apace. it's finding an ending place that I feel good about for the Other Stuff that may drag this fic on a little, so consider the final chapter count tentative for now


	10. Virtue of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On discretion, and loving your kingdom. Loving each other.

Hornet wasn't allowed to go many places in Deepnest, lately. She found the idea entirely disagreeable, and had no problems letting everyone around her know how bored she was. This was _her_ kingdom, wasn't it? She ought to be able to go wherever she wants. It'd only be fair.

But as it stood, her prowess as the foremost escape artist in all the land was being tested like never before. When her mother wasn't around, Hornet was always flanked by at least two weavers or devout who'd been briefed on her favorite tricks. And of course, it'd been a very long time since she'd been able to successfully sneak off under her mother's eye. It appeared the queen truly _did_ know everything. Hornet was excited to grow into that particular power. 

She _supposed_ she understood, somewhat, when a harried weaver sat her down and gave her a talking-to. Things were "dangerous right now", and that she "needs to be clever and patient" when there's trouble, because she's a spider, and the princess. Well, "right now" meant things would change, so what exactly was the harm in exploring? For all she knew, the new dangers could just disappear while she was out. And why did _she_ have to be patient, when mother got to take action, and be a fearsome warrior? No one was more dangerous than the queen of spiders. This whole situation was beyond unfair.

She wasn't stupid, she thought as she attempted to use her new expertise with silk to scale off the side of the Weaver's Den. She _knew_ her home, and she was a very good listener. 

She knew the stories of the Nosk, the monster that lurked deep below the kingdom and lured its poor prey into its lair with trickery. _Every_ spider in Deepnest knew of it, and knew to avoid it. She also knew to stay away from Dirtcarver nests, for the hungry reputation earned by the breeding piles. She knew that there was trouble at the border. The huge, sharp creatures that were not as big as her mother were angry, and fought everything, and sounded downright mean. And something was making them even angrier now, though she did not know what. 

But there was probably something else. Something was bothering her friends and their families, especially the ones who got sick, before. She wanted to investigate. Wasn't it her duty, as princess, to learn what she could and help her people?

Cruelly, that's about the time when one of the babysitter weavers caught her mid-descent, and began reeling her back up by her own silk, while she could only dangle and pout about it. She was so bored.

-

Ogrim and his young recruit had stayed with Isma a tad longer than expected. It was supposed to be a short and informative visit, really, but then they'd stayed for supper. Afterwards, it'd been practical to just return to the barracks for some sleep, and visit Ze'mer in the morning. The recruit had given him no indication of what they thought of this plan, but Ogrim felt like he'd learned to read them a bit better. They didn't appear to _like_ making any final decisions on their own. They only ever stood regal, straight backed, and walked like a trained soldier. But Ogrim quickly understood that they just used all that dedicated propriety to hide whatever was going on inside their head. So serious. Just like their father.

But their father had the advantage of age and wisdom, and the recruit often reminded Ogrim that they didn't, yet. They were prone to drifting off at random, and then shutting down when overwhelmed. These sorts of issues were certainly not unheard of, even among warriors and knight hopefuls. They just needed a little support, was all. And perhaps some exposure to different methods of handling stress. Ogrim was happy to let them decompress at the barracks for the night. 

Dryya greeted him at the doors, first with questions about how their friends were doing. Ogrim eagerly reported on Hegemol's new post, and the progress of Isma's grove. They'd even saved her some berries. 

But Dryya seemed to be eyeing the recruit the entire time he spoke..   
"You've got more mail," she said to them, apropos of nothing. "I left it on your bunk."

The recruit took this as permission to leave, doing so without acknowledging either of them any further, as usual. Dryya gave Ogrim a look. Ogrim blinked. 

"...Has something--"

"How long have you known?"

"...I-- excuse me?"

"Ogrim," she began, arms crossed, "we've been receiving letters from the palace. Real ones. From the Queen. To the recruit."

Both waited a moment for the other to say more. Dryya eventually accepted that she'd be the one to finish.

"They're _addressed to her child,"_ she finished in a harsh whisper.

Ogrim stood silently for another beat, before remembering to look surprised.

"...What?! But that's im-- oh, what a shock, what a-- the idea of a secret royal-- are you _quite sure_ they aren't forg--"

"Oh my Wyrm, stop that. Gods, you're worse than Ze'mer." She sighed, then lowered her voice. "Ogrim, there's never been any sort of announcement, this isn't exactly public information. What if I hadn't been the one to open the mail today? The news would be all over the city!"

"Well, to be fair, you _are_ supposed to handle the mail every day."

_"Ogrim..!"_

_"Alright!_ ...Yes, I've… known some things. For quite a while. We shouldn't talk out here."

Once settled in Dryya's quarters--they never went to Ogrim's to talk for any extended amount of time, though he couldn't guess why-- Ogrim related everything he knew. The pale child in the palace all those years ago, the oath to secrecy he'd made to his king, some speculation on what was supposed to become of the disinherited princeling.

"I had guessed that the King and Queen sent them here, to further protect their secret. But for the queen to be so boldly sending letters-- perhaps it's not as big of a secret as it once was?" Ogrim guessed.

Dryya thought for a long time. She looked disturbed. "...Or maybe the Queen just doesn't care anymore. I know her pretty well. Though, not as well as I thought, it seems. She always kind of wanted to be a mother, but the King never liked the idea of heirs. He had it in his head that a kid would try to take him down one day, or try and wage war over power of the kingdom, or something. You’d think someone could just raise their family with an emphasis on loyalty in mind."

"...Did you read the letter?"

"I did. She's asking them how training is going. And she had news about their 'sister'." Her little laugh was one part incredulous, two parts bitter.

"Th--she meant the child of Beast, I'm sure, there can't possibly be _others--"_

"Ogrim," she stopped him. "It's clear that the Queen is openly risking some very… _personal_ information regarding the royal family, and we have every reason to believe she's doing it behind the King's back."

Oh. "That… would complicate things, wouldn't it."

She snorted. "Sounds to me like things have been complicated for a very long time. God. ...I wondered what it was, you know, that made her hide away from the palace for so long. Do you think she even got to… alright, no, okay. "

“It’s, ah, not an ideal situation. I dread that talk, but you’re right, we need to inform the king--”

“No.” 

“Pardon?” 

"We swore our oath to Hallownest as much as the king. If the Queen doesn't want her husband knowing about this, it's not our place to go behind _her_ back. The best thing for us to do is keep screening the mail and ensure no one else finds out about this. The people would only begin to speculate on the fate of the kingdom, or begin spreading rumors. You know how the high-borns like to _talk."_ Dryya stood, quickly checking the door for anyone listening in.

Ogrim balked. "Dryya, it was the _King_ who gave us our titles, and the responsibilities that come with them. Our loyalty is foremost to _him,_ and you're right, if the recruit's origin is truly meant to be kept secret, the best way to do that would be to let him _know_ that secret is being threatened! _He_ can talk to her, and could nip this in the bud. It could be an unfortunate misunderstanding!" He stood to match her, imploring.

"Whatever _our_ feelings on the matter, the fact remains that this isn't any of our business. Royal matters are _no one's_ business, and the most _loyal_ thing we can do for the King is be discrete." Dryya stared him down. 

"Shouldn't we discuss this with the other Five--?"

 _"We_ shouldn't even be discussing this! Who are we five to pass judgement on a mother's actions? Or on her kid? Our Queen is no _idiot,_ Ogrim, she must know what she’s doing. Whatever comes of this will be in the hands of the parties concerned." 

Ogrim had a dozen half-formed arguments, but couldn't pull any of them to the air. The Five have had their spats between them, but as far as he knew, none of them had ever disagreed like this. Not on matters of loyalty. He did nothing to hide his concern, and it appeared to soften Dryya's glare somewhat. 

"Tell _them_ what you know, if you want to tell anyone. See what good it does them. I will defer to the whims of my Queen, as I always have. Even if it means having to carve an hour or two out of my day for handling _mail."_ She kind of scoffed. "And don't think I'll be treating the little princeling any differently from anyone else who passes through our doors. They are here to be a knight, and if even their wyrm's blood can't help them achieve that, then it certainly won't _excuse_ them." 

Ogrim let out a chuckle, somehow relieved. "Of course. No, I don't think coddling would do them any good. But I do think they'll benefit from making a few new friends, wherever this path takes them." He looked off to the side, thinking. 

"Can you imagine it, Dryya? An entire life spent in secret? They certainly do have an air of mystery about them for it, but it does sound… lonely." If Ogrim were to be honest with himself, which he often tried to be, he'd admit this was what was swaying him to listen to Dryya. If they told the king what they knew, there could be a chance he would forbid correspondence between the recruit and their mother. They already seemed to have so little. Getting shipped off to the barracks was without a doubt the first time they'd left the only home they'd ever known, for any extended amount of time. And all they'd packed was their nail. Ogrim found himself longing to talk to Isma.

His musings on their upbringing seemed to set Dryya off in thought, as well. 

"...A potential _knight_ having spent their life in seclusion. Perhaps with no real context of the world around them. Hm." She didn't seem to very much like that idea.

-

Dryya often took it upon herself to wake the recruits, when she found it necessary. Most would learn the diligence to rise early enough on their own, but for the rest, she liked to employ a number of tactics to discourage oversleeping. Bashing shields together like cymbals was one tried and true. Collecting rainwater in a bucket and dumping it on a trainee who's already had one too many warnings was a favorite of hers. Once, she'd launched her nail into the wall by someone's bed. That had been funny. She'd never harm any of them, of course, and may have relished the chance to show off her well-honed aim. 

She was doing rounds this morning, and elected to rouse anyone still asleep with a sharp whistle. When she got to the bunker where their newest, strangest recruit slept, she found them not only already awake, but caring for their nail. Their motions were well-practiced to the point of appearing mechanical, but were interrupted as they stood at attention upon her entry. She taught every recruit to do that day one, but few were so dutiful about it. She waved them off.

"Have you eaten yet?" ...Can they even? The Queen did, though Dryya was pretty sure she didn't need to. Either way, they responded in the negative. She ushered them to follow her with a sharp tilt of her head. 

She noticed quickly that they had a tendency to walk behind, rather than at another's side. This appeared to be true no matter who they were with, though she'd only seen them with Ogrim. Was it a sign of respect, or something less obvious?

"Keep up, recruit. If you hope to earn the rank of a knight, you should be able to keep pace with one."

They did, at her word. Easily. They were already so tall.

"You follow orders well. It's a good trait in any sort of apprentice. But only when one knows the orders serve to further one's learning. And after the apprenticeship is done, orders should be followed for better purposes than _just_ for the sake of doing what one is told. There are certainly some potential liege lords out there that look for blind obedience in their faithful knights, if you’d find comfort in that sort of black-and-white employment. But before swearing yourself to anyone, you ought to know how their morals align with your own." She watched them as she talked. They seemed to be watching her in return, but it was kind of hard to tell with them.

"A knight that commits acts of senseless violence in the name of someone's banner is no knight at all. They're a mercenary, at best. At worst, they're just a well-paid bully. Do you know what separates a true knight from any noble cur with a nail, who gets commanded about by a nobler cur without one?"

The recruit shook their head, so slightly she almost thought it was just moving with their steps.

"Fealty to _justice,_ above all else. The world is already so cruel. It is in need of those who fight to make it better, and who want more than anything to do what's right. We protect our vulnerable, and if anyone tries to perpetuate cruelty or subjugate our people-- be it an enemy's army, another knight, or one's own liege lord-- it is a true knight's solemn duty to _cut them down_ in the name of justice." She looked ahead again. 

"We will train you in strength, here. But there's no room for corruption or greed in our ranks. If you've a good heart, you'll do well, so long as you follow its guidance. Don't let your loyalty or your self ever be taken advantage of."

The recruit didn't answer in any way. Dryya didn't need them to, and would just hold hope that she got through to them at least a little.

"I hadn't seen you in the mess hall over your last week here. Breakfast will do us both some good. No warrior stays strong while they're going hungry. The other recruits might be a bit rowdy, but if they give you any trouble, you can just give trouble right back to them, got it?" She offered a smile.

The recruit nodded once. She was sure they'd do fine. 

-

By some magical nature of the palace ballroom's architecture, it tended to amplify sound. This was meant to provide optimal acoustics all around the room for any musical entertainment. Consequently, it also led to more than a few feuds within its walls when gossiping guests found that their voices carried further than they'd meant. Now, footsteps echoed from that place, a bit louder than the two half-hushed voices they accompanied. If one listened close enough, they may even be able to hear the rustling of an unpracticed set of hands mishandling a bouquet, until an expert set presses them gently away before any damage can be done.

"This one… Pride, perhaps?"

"Not quite, my Wyrm."

"They look so similar."

"The difference lies in the number of petals."

"None of them _do_ anything, save for the poisonous ones. Who was it that decided every single one should carry secret meanings? Were they invented for subterfuge?"

"That could be. Though the earliest accounts I can remember were penned by those who wanted only for a unique new way to express affection for their loved ones."

"Then what of the one that means 'Be cursed'?"

"People want to express all sorts of things to each other. It is in the nature of any living soul to want to communicate with its kindred."

"Do you know, good Queen, how you tend to get rather general with your platitudes about the world when you don't actually have any concrete answers to a question."

"Do you accuse me of misdirection?"

"No. Only of occasionally ruminating on things so very far away, when I might prefer you here with me, my Root." 

A soft, chiming laugh that rings louder in its echo than from the voice that made it.

"And _here_ with you, we're learning the specifics of flora and its language. Do you remember this one?"

"...Joy?"

"Was that a question?"

"It's joy."

"It is. And these?"

"Eternity."

"You sound so certain of that."

"I was curious about them. You grew these for our wedding arch."

"...I was not aware that you'd noticed."

"You-- did you truly think me so _indifferent?"_

"Not at all. I merely meant that for all that time, you seemed to only be looking at _me."_

"..."

"You're doing it again, your majesty. And here I am, trying to teach you something of great personal importance to me."

"...I, ah. My Root, it’s… I..."

"...I know. And you know I do, in turn."

"...Right. Yes." A throat clearing. "Good."

"The pink one, now, with the odd shape."

"...Good health."

"Not quite."

The lesson continued on that way, both voices cautious, as they were all too aware of how their words reverberated around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [beatboxing] this was so many povs please accept my apologies 
> 
> also, life update. ive been on furlough since march, and just got my restaurant job back this week. sooo updates might slow down a bit. im on tumblr by this username if anyone wants to shoot me a prompt or just yell at me about hollow knight tho because BOY im deep in it now. yall i cant listen to any of pv's themes without feeling genuinely sad
> 
> as always, thank you all for reading!


	11. Virtue of Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings here: Violence, death, body horror, some horror themes in general. Nothing gory, but feel free to ask me to tag more or summarize in end note if needed.

“And at the stroke of midnight, the magic wore off, just as the shaman had said. And the young maid ran away from her dance with the prince.”

“Why?” Hornet demanded, looking up from her mother’s woven story. “She was _happy_ for once, mother. Why didn’t she just stay and show everyone who she was? He already liked her! ...I think.”

“That’s a good question, honeycomb. I think she might have been ashamed, or maybe afraid. She’d rather run away from her fears than let everyone know who she really was.”

“Why would she be scared?”

“...Some people believe they’re worth less than others. It isn’t true, but it’s a common problem, even if they don’t realize it. Maybe she thought it’d be easier to leave one happy moment a dream she could look back on, and resign herself to some worse life because she thinks it _for_ her.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I suppose it's a difficult question, for such an old story. Let’s see… Maybe she thought she was lying to the prince, and didn’t like that. Lying to people about who you are is very hard to do, and not often worth it. She may have found that running away was easier than explaining. What do _you_ think, Hornet?”

“I think she should have eaten her stepmom. She should get _mad_ for once!”

Herrah laughed. “Don’t _you_ get any ideas, now! The White Lady is a good friend of mine, and I _know_ she’s been letting you have more than enough sweets at tea.” 

The shrieking tinkle of little laughter rang out as Herrah tickled her daughter in their den.

-

The Pale King was stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, his White Lady was throwing a _party._ On the either, she was _throwing_ a party. There was no getting out of any social engagement if it was going to be orchestrated by his own wife after such a long absence, but he couldn't deny that it was a blessing that she was _orchestrating_ anything at all. She hadn't had an active hand in courtly affairs in nigh an age. He'd have guessed that to be a literal estimation, if not for the fact that there were many in court who still seemed to remember a time when the Queen hosted. 

The king never made a habit of attending parties, even her's. She never minded. He used to harbor some small anxiety that she was simply just insisting that she didn't mind his absences, but the two knew each other well enough to agree it was for the best if he didn't go. She was a socialite, and neither of them would have very much fun if she had to deal with him clinging to her side all night out of sheer awkwardness. Not to mention the way people tended to go funny around the king. When one's reputation is that of an all-seeing, omnipotent giver of life and creator of all things, people tended to react somewhat strongly to one's presence. Sometimes there was grovelling. Sometimes awed cowering. Once, someone just started wailing. It really wasn't the sort of mood his Lady had been going for that night. He thinks it might have actually been someone's birthday. 

But this would be their first celebration in such a long time, and there was certainly plenty to celebrate. The end of the infection was highest on the list, as reconstruction and mourning had been going on long enough by now. The people could use some levity, and if he had to make his first public appearance since the plague, it ought to be here. He supposed it was the very least he could do for the sake of morale.

(The queen had already been doing her part for morale, far above party planning. She'd again taken to making appearances, giving speeches, and was currently corresponding with Monomon and her staff about funding healing centers within the city. And on that end, the queen had returned to him one morning with the news that _Monomon_ was requesting the empty plot of land once meant for the memorial statue. She wanted to build a training hospital there. 

The king still had to formally sort through other petitions for the space, but really, they were both well aware that the royal family owed her too much to deny her a request like that.)

Good news was never long lived when one had a nation to run. There were always fires to put out. One particularly massive one came in the form of the sudden interruption to the day by one of his Five, the White Defender, back so soon. He had a guest with him, and they both looked worse for wear. Ogrim was nursing some injury to his wrist and looked worried sick, and the other bug, who the king somewhat recognized from the Archive, looked sort of generally battered and shaken. Fortunately, he only looked a _little_ terrified to be kneeling directly in front of his king. He carried a nail, and had a messenger bag of what he quickly explained was research equipment. There was a brief and halting introduction where he revealed his title--Archival assistant to the Teacher-- and his task--field work, interviewing the previously infected for the King's own research. The bug then pulled what appeared to be a tape recorder from his bag.

"We have… news," the archivist said at length, "of the situation in the Fungal wilds--with, ah, the Mantises? It was something of a civil war, just as the madam feared." The king honed in on the one word he hadn't expected.

"Was?" 

His (rather charred looking, now that he's gotten a good look at them) guests exchanged a grave look between themselves. The archivist looked to be wrestling internally with some explanation. Ultimately, he decided to hold up the tape recorder.

"...If your majesty will allow, I think it'd be best to let events speak for themselves."

_Click!_

<-

_...One, two, three..._

Today had already been more new experiences before _breakfast_ than the vessel was used to getting in a decade, and this trend showed no sign of stopping. It was counting, again, this time whenever it saw certain kinds of mushrooms. The act of categorization lent some familiarity to more new things, made them digestible with the promise of finitude. Thirty three blue spotted ones. Fourteen large, purplish ones. Two that had moved. The Fungal Wilds beyond the city where it now travelled were full of different types. 

The other recruits had been loud. Dryya had been kind. It didn't remember how the food had been. The bridge leading out of the city had sixty-one rail pikes. The Queen's latest letter had five hundred and twenty-two words. A bit more than the first one, which had been at four hundred and ninety-seven. Hornet's one had totalled at one hundred and forty-five, and a half.

Ogrim was saying something. 

"...though, I wouldn't recommend cooking them! They're best eaten raw, if you can eat them at all. I'm told they give off something of a stench when cooked, but I hadn't even noticed over the _fire._ Let that be a lesson for you; culinary adventures are best undertaken with a failsafe in place! Er, even if that just ends up being...tossing the offending frying pan out the window into the flood water." 

Ogrim talked a lot. Habit often told the vessel that he wasn't speaking to it, and so it had no business listening. It was always a conscious effort to remember that there was no one else here he could be addressing, and that it wasn't currently on duty as a decorative door guard.

_...Four, five, six…_

"It's a good job that we stopped back at the barracks when we did. If Dryya hadn't informed me of Ze'mer's current post, we likely would have looked a bit foolish just waiting at her door! And it's an excuse to see even more of the land you'll one day defend. The Fog Canyon may be a bit out of the way, but the students and faculty housed within the Archive are our citizens. And such sharp minds they possess! Any one of them could make the next great discovery that improves life in Hallownest tenfold. Perhaps an instantaneous mode of travel. Or armor that won't rust." The Great Knight amused himself with his imagination as they walked. The vessel counted four more blue mushrooms and a purple.

They never would get to the Archive. The vessel could feel it in the roiling twist of the void within its abdomen when it began to hear screams, coming from deeper in the wilds. Not the direction they were going, not towards the Fog Canyon. But that didn't matter, for they were warriors charged with the protection of the kingdom's people, and some of those people might be in danger. It was only logical that Ogrim would charge toward the sound and yell for the vessel to keep up, and to keep its blade at ready. 

The outskirts of the Mantis tribe's land spoke of so much recent strife. Mantids of different shapes and sizes lie dead, their wounds speaking of the serrated ends of their kindred's claws. Some odd, dusty looking substance coated much of the bodies, and clung to the vessel's cloak as it stepped over them.

"Do you smell smoke?" 

There was another scream, and Ogrim charged further in, trusting the vessel to follow close.

_...Do not hesitate._

The Mantis Village architecture was so very different from that of the City. The buildings here were square, and built into cavern walls or atop one another, nothing at all like towers and spires. They were also shellwood, or some kind of hard wood that burned slow and hot as fire ravaged their structures from all sides, and mantises scrambled to control the spread. 

"What in Wyrm's name…?" Ogrim began, before abruptly shouting,

_"Ze'mer!!"_

In a move the vessel hadn't seen before, Ogrim literally _launched_ himself in a maneuver that curled him into a projectile sphere, arcing over the chaos and… directly into the fire.

No, that wasn't right. There was another figure, gleaming in white armor the same way he did, and she was fighting something. From here, it looked like she was just swinging her nail into solid fire. When Ogrim knocked into it, some creatures within slumped over. Mantises, big ones. Fighting without abandon as flame ate away at their shells, immolating them from the inside out. They fought until their bodies finally cracked under it all like spent matches, and a final strike of Ze'mer's nail crumbled them into little more than burning chunks of coal. 

This whole place was a scene of horror like none the vessel had known before, and it could not simply _breathe_ the fear away this time, if only because of all the smoke that already stung its face. 

"My friend, what--"

 _"Waii!_ There is no _time!_ Le'mer must take the Canyon's unlucky charge, deliver sanctuary and _flee!"_ The tall, fair knight with the heavy looking nail hurried a small group of bugs out from behind the rubble where they hid. Three of them, all with various injuries.

"But--Where are _you_ going?" Ogrim sputtered.

"...Nahlo. Dearest friend, know che's flight not to be abandonment. She only asks understanding from le'mer, when thus far the world proves to have so little for even things true and sacred." 

The vessel isn't sure it heard this right, over all the fire and Ze'mer's lowered tone. But Ogrim hadn't hesitated, and saluted her. 

"Take care. Please."

"And you do the same. Me'hon." She offered her own salute in turn, and disappeared deeper into the Mantis village, braving the fires of hell for something the vessel couldn't possibly fathom. 

Ogrim gestured them over, and it was only at that point that it realized it'd been standing frozen to its spot. Thankfully, they'd already established that this wasn't out of the ordinary for it. Ogrim took the new bugs' names, and asked what they'd been doing. The answer was students, and they'd been doing something along the lines of field work, interviewing, recording--the vessel's attention was split, trying to decipher whether the nearest structure would collapse, or whether some ghoulish flaming husk would strike at them from the next corner. It was hard to tell where they were all going. There was so much smoke. 

And when something finally _did_ jump out at the vessel, its reflexes took over before it could even register it. Its nail parted the swollen mantis' head from its shoulders with little resistance. It shattered into ash on impact with the ground, like a dry clump of dirt, as the body fell to the other side and smoldered away.

_...Seven, eight…_

It could hear the sounds of combat up ahead. The kind with nails, clashing in quick succession. Another knight? Ze'mer had gone the other way. 

"I don't--I don't think this is the right way!" One of their charges shouted over the noise. The foremost of them, and the only one of them who was armed. "We may be headed for Deepnest at this route, I recognize th--well," If the bug did recognize anything, that'd be impressive. The fires were starting to topple walls, one instance of which promptly interrupted his suggestion. 

"There's less fire out here than where we came from, and we can't very well split up! We can only press forward," Ogrim assured everyone. And press forward they did, right up until the vessel nearly misstepped and almost plunged off a narrow cliff into a wide cavern below. It only noticed because the air had cleared some, here, as no fire came from below to obscure its vision. 

"Careful, now!" Ogrim steadied it. "It appears you were right. We're--right above the Lords' arena." He peered down. The scholars looked a little queasy at the idea. Everyone could hear the sounds of nail combat, now, just below. 

"Escape through Deepnest might be the only way… Surely--surely a Great Knight has already earned their blessing before?" That first bug said again, hopeful. Ogrim looked sheepish. 

"Ah...I've never even laid eyes on Mantis Village before now, unfortunately." He looked over at the vessel. "But the two of us may be able to gain their respect in short order. Two against four--that's not terrible!" He clapped the vessel on the back. For one ridiculous moment, it longed to crawl back into the creaky bed back at the barracks and be done with the day.

The scholars seemed to understand the alternative to this was to turn around and possibly have to brave a steep climb though even more fire, and one of them was already starting to cough and gag. That in mind, the group briefly debated the logistics of carefully climbing down, before Ogrim simply hefted two of them up under his arms and hopped down with a battle cry while they shrieked. The vessel stared at the remaining scholar, who stared back, openly unnerved. 

".......Er. I can, uhm, jump down on my own, thank you." He nodded politely, then did so, unexpectedly agile. The vessel jumped down after him, only hesitating one more moment.

The scene across the cavern, in front of four towering thrones of roughly hewn stone, was three tall, fearsome looking mantises, wrangling and attempting to subdue a fourth, who was so much bigger, and looked to be swinging his claws at them and shouting nonsense. He shouted things that frightened the vessel, things that made it want to go _home,_ if it had any, and just be somewhere safe. But was anywhere really safe? It felt as though no place so far had offered anything but some new horrible thing to be afraid of, or to cause it pain, or to confuse it. 

It briefly, traitorously, wondered what it was even doing here. 

"...We should sneak past them," one of the scholars pointed out. The bug with the nail had a whirring handheld device out, and was focused intensely on the fight playing out before them all. 

"...That's not a very honorable way to go about this--" Ogrim began, before, unthinkably, the largest mantis burst into flame, knocking the other three back into the cavern walls, and setting the room ablaze. 

_...Nine, ten..._

The vessel ran for the Deepnest entrance before anyone could say another word. 

The gate was closed, but that didn't slow it. Focus. Soul. Out from within somewhere it would not name to crackle the surrounding air before setting it pounding with contained implosions of soul. The steel door that played bulwark to Deepnest cracked apart before the vessel like a tea cookie. It went inside. Ogrim shouted from behind, and it sounded like he and the scholars were attempting to rouse the Mantis Lords. 

It did not think, only stood and waited for its companions to catch up, for whatever the next order would be. It would steadfastly think of and do nothing beyond what it was told the next steps would be.

-

The Mantis Lords lived, but had fled up to their village instead of accepting Ogrim's offer to help. The knight, scholars, and vessel now traversed Deepnest. The one who seemed least bothered about this was actually the scholar with the nail--the vessel feels as though it should remember his name. But it was done feeling, right now. The scholar informed everyone of the existence of a stag station somewhere in Deepnest's capital, and everyone seemed to feel better for the promise of soon getting back home. The walk was filled with heated debate among the three from the Archive, who seemed incredibly interested in what became of the fourth Mantis lord. The vessel learned that scholars were smart people with wealths of life experience. They could witness terrifying, nightmarish things, and then scratch their chins and hypothesize about them while the wounds were still fresh right outside. It was not the vessel's place to form an opinion about this.

The weavers seemed more than happy to give directions to the way out, at least. Deepnest wasn't as hostile to outsiders as the Mantis village was, but they weren't exactly keen on Hallownest bugs gallivanting about their home. Allies or not, bad blood had a tendency to simmer. It was their king who'd once tried to demand universal fealty, and then the infection had started in _his_ subjects. Things might always be a little awkward.

When they finally climbed high enough, the scholars all but scrambled towards the station. The vessel looked on ahead, counting the dens it could see. It didn't focus too much on the big one. Ogrim put a claw on its shoulder. It didn't react, but realized he hadn't spoken in quite some time. 

"...Would you like to go see her? Perhaps once we get back from escorting our charges home?" He asked. 

The vessel didn't so much as breathe.

"...We do need to see the king, too, you know. To report on... whatever all that was. The archivist seems certain that he'll be quite interested to hear about what happened back there." Nothing. Ogrim sighed, and kept his voice low. 

"I know how… _much_ this all must be, for you. Even without getting caught behind enemy lines and surrounded by fire. But still, you were remarkably brave in the face of it all. Stoicism like yours comes once in an era. I think, maybe, seeing your family again for a little while might do you some good. I'm sure they'd be happy to see you." He told it, the sound of a warm smile in his voice. 

The vessel looked right at him. Rather suddenly, if the small jolt of shock in Ogrim's shoulders told it anything. 

"...Yes, I… I've known of you, and of your origins, for quite some time now. You probably don't remember me. You were so _tiny_ when they first brought you to the palace. Though it's a proud figure of both your parents that you cut now!" He attempted some gaiety, but knew better by now than to expect audience participation. 

"I do apologize for not telling you sooner. I thought your existence meant to be kept secret, but the way the Queen writes to you now, I feel that may not be true for long. But if it is, well… I remain loyal to my king.

Loyalty is a thing of utmost importance. A knight's worth relies upon their devotion to those they swear to, you see. Long ago, I swore myself to the service of the Pale King, his White Lady the Queen, and to all their beloved Hallownest. And in that way, that means you, too, even if you did not yet exist when I took my oath. You are a citizen of Hallownest, yes, but you're also loved by the king and queen. I hope you know that we Five will protect you, as best as we're able, until and beyond when you're ready to join our ranks. Whether as a fellow knight, princeling, or citizen, you have our loyalty. Just as you've always shown your own loyalty to the kingdom." 

Loyalty. 

Ogrim's claw was warm on its shoulder. 

Loyalty to the kingdom. Its birthright. 

It'd always been _loyal,_ hadn't it. 

Do what it must, do not what it oughtn't. 

Claw its way out of the dead chill of a sick egg, wires charging void intravenous directly from the albumen. 

It climbed to the light out of desperation. But it had left a hatchmate, and any after them, for dead behind it out of _loyalty._

It had stood silent, it allowed itself emptied in every way a being could allow. _Loyal_ to its purpose. Scooped hollow to fit something more important than it would ever be inside, the most convenient little prison cell, to itself be chained for maximum security. 

For its sacrifice, Hallownest would last eternal. _Loyal_ to the end of its King's undying reign. 

Loyal. 

Obedient. 

Servile. 

Made ignorant.

Made meek.

Made _nothing._

And in return for its loyalty, it would be sent away to once again be fine-tuned to become useful to someone. Only alive at all because it would have been so useful. 

It will be a good, useful nail extension for the Knights. Hallownest will never stop finding utility in things that can spill blood. It is already so sharp, and could do such awful things to a living creature, if it tried.

Even the queen scrambled to find new use for it. She'd been the first to abandon it when she hadn't had personal need of a vessel. Now, it could indulge her some lost phase of domestic life, while sparing her the trouble of actually raising it. It will be a good child. 

The king of Hallownest finds a use for everything. Everything in its place. Everything pale and perfect and pristine and priceless. Whatever the king wants it to be, it will be. He's made sure of it before. His word is gospel. It was made for Him. It died for Him. It will again, and then it will be torn out from its itching shell to face its siblings who could not match it in life, could not earn what it did because they had not been good enough. Not _loyal_ enough.

The fear in the Mantis lord's eyes before his visions of hell finally consumed him in an explosive display of scarlet. How many more obscene things like that will it be made to witness, so no one else has to? A sight like that does not fit Hallownest's radiant, perfect King and Queen, nor their civilized people. Just fine for a tool of convenience, however. 

Just fine for the Pure Vessel, artfully emptied, made to take and take and take what no one else wanted, all the refuse and regrets.

_Eleven._

The vessel heard a crack coming from somewhere between where Ogrim's claw had been resting on its shoulder, and where its own hand had struck it away with some force.

Ogrim called out something, either in pain or surprise or anger, it did not know. It lept off the edge of the walkway, into the depths of the nest. 

_Twelve._

The Hollow Knight fled.

->

Quirrel took it upon himself to transcribe the recording he played for the king, for clarity and posterity. It is archived thus:

**The teacher's assistants present for the Mantis Family Incident have requested to remain anonymous. White Defender Ogrim, present for the incident, had been training an apprentice, who was also present. He has requested their identity be struck from the record as well. Archival assistant to Teacher Monomon responsible for initial recording and subsequent transcription.**

_[SOUNDS OF FIRE CRACKLING, NAILS CLINKING AGAINST CHITIN CAN BE HEARD IN TIME WITH GRUNTING. THE FOURTH LORD SHOUTS ABOVE IT ALL, HIS VOICE SPEEDS UP AT INTERVALS.]_

_THE FOURTH LORD:_ \--sisters can't know of how real power had felt, how it burned, so bright so hot so pulsing it left us blinded but we did not remain blinded! We see now, we see and we see and beyond that we hear, there was light but before that there was light and there was darkness, sisters, dreams and darkness and dreams and light and one fills and fills and fills while its other burns away and leaves the kingdom dry and picks the bones and we remain, sisters!

_[SOUNDS OF STRUGGLE CONTINUE. ANONYMOUS T.A. QUIETLY RETCHES AND COUGHS.]_

_THE FOURTH LORD:_ Can you hear it, sisters? The song that remains with us? Hark, everlasting, ever playing, herald of the end your-- _[HE LAUGHS]--_ your stupid gods, your gluttonous wyrms, your traitor zealots brought to themselves? Power burns so brightly and it burns so hot, my sisters, and it eats and it grows and we cannot contain it and we cannot contain it for a very long time, sisters. It will leave us dry and fallow but it will be spectacular, sisters. And when we're done, and when we will dance, and when we will burn, and there is too much of it-- _[UNINTELLIGIBLE]_

 _THE FOURTH LORD:_ The dread-father wants to burn for the child, sisters. The all-mother will not let him take her down with him, sisters. Can you hear the song? Can you see the fractals? All I see is gold, sisters. All I see glitters. Scarlet and gold dance so beautifully together, si--

 _ANONYMOUS T.A.: [AS THE MAD LORD SPEAKS]_ We should sneak past them.

 _W.D. OGRIM.: [AS THE MAD LORD SPEAKS]_ That's not a very honorable way to go about--

_[RECORDING SHORTS OUT, HERE THE FOURTH MANTIS LORD SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTS. RECORDING CUTS BACK IN BRIEFLY WITH UNINTELLIGIBLE STATIC, AND SHORT CIRCUITS AGAIN WHEN ANONYMOUS APPRENTICE FIRES A BURST OF SOUL MAGIC.]_

_W.D. OGRIM:_ \--will be fine on their own, I suppose. … Ho there! Recruit! Are you quite alright? 

_QUIRREL:_ I dropped the-- has anyone seen--? Ah. There it--

_[RECORDING ENDS.]_

-

The Pale King breathed deep, steady. The archivist wavered, his device still held aloft. The White Defender rubbed at his wrist, hesitant to speak up.

"...My liege?"

"Thank you. That will be all." 

The archivist took his leave quickly enough. Ogrim stayed behind, however, politely requesting to know the Queen's whereabouts. The king directed him to her gardens, where she was currently entertaining. Ogrim left as well, at that. 

The king sat a moment longer, alone in the room, save for a kingsmould. On one hand, his mystery was broken wide open. But on the other he had so, so dearly wished that he'd never have to see another _circus._

_"...Shit."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, love you guys


	12. Virtue of Being The Very Best Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many lost things can a kingdom hold?

The realm of all dreams was once united, now split. The breakup had been... less than cordial. 

Running any sort of realm is a collaborative effort. And when two co-masters cannot agree on how to run it, or what to do with it, or what it’s for, or what they want from it, the whole thing goes sideways pretty quickly. And as is typical with gods, many lives end up adversely affected when things go poorly between them. But the gods themselves always, somehow, tend to come out mostly unscathed. Mostly. So long as they have a realm to call their own, and any followers to sustain them, they’re generally fine. 

The Root of Life found fulfillment in taking an active role with her devoted, walking among them like another mortal. This wasn’t uncommon, it's only natural to take personal pride and interest in the fruits of one’s power. The Pale Wyrm took a slightly different approach; some gods wanted to rule with absolute power, but still valued solitude. They often found that having a base of power reachable by their worshipers made it easy to accomplish both. People usually believed in what they could see was there, after all. Where some gods preferred to base atop mountains, or somewhere deep inside the planet, or even in some especially remarkable rock, the Wyrm chose a glittering castle. Sort of an odd choice for such a reclusive creature, but it certainly wasn’t unheard for a god to feel the need to _prove_ something. Perhaps he was compensating for how he’d once lived. Palace life couldn’t be any further from burrowing in the cold, dark, dirty ground. Or maybe he just had a sense of theatricality. That’s a fun trait, in a god. There was certainly no bigger display of obligatory performance and make-believe than the social constraints of a monarchy. Even the _circus_ had the honesty to openly relish in its complete detachment from reality. 

At any rate, other gods preferred to remain within their realms, away from their believers, only venturing out if they needed something. These were often the ones that preferred to simply _be_ their realms, in lieu of actively prowling about for followers. None was a better example of this than the Lord of Shades, who had always preferred to be known as the void sea. Even long ago, when it had living followers, few even knew of its existence as a unified being at all. They had worshiped the darkness as a concept, and this had worked just fine for it. 

The Radiance had once been this kind of god, as well. She was the guiding light incarnate, she was the whispered voice that gave weight to the hopes and dreams of her followers. She wanted to shine eternal, comfy and ageless in her gleaming land-that-was-not-a-land.

But her realm was of dreams. And dreams--in this way like soul and unlike void-- were inexorably tied to mortals. She needed them, and they loved her, and that was the dynamic. She'd weaken without followers to spread her influence, but likely would not have faded out of existence completely. It'd just be something of a languishing existence. This was how it'd worked for both masters of the dream realm, even after their split. 

Before their split, her stance on remaining stationary and conceptual had been a massive point of contention between them. Mortals were anything _but_ stationary, after all. They lived and died in cycles, and the dreams they left behind in the inevitable tragedies of their lives were just as sustaining, and just as _important_ as the nice ones they had at their primes, even if the Radiance had no interest in the darker aspects of her beloved devotees. Adapting was necessary, when one worked with mortals. Remaining an embodiment of an idea was counterproductive, and risked them fading at any random point, at the mercy of capricious generations. No, it was better to follow the cycle, and find power in it. 

Life, both individual and on a mass scale, was a performance; having a beginning, middle, and end, even if the genre or amount of acts in between would vary. And who doesn't love a good show? Why not find your role, and learn to dance? 

And this proved right, if the fate of the dear Moth had shown anyone anything. Mortals were fickle, and happily flitted away to the next shiny bauble that promised something spectacular. The Radiance took just as poorly to the idea of fading as anyone could have expected. As she weakened, she lashed out, terrifying in her desperation. Even if not at her peak, a god could still wreak unspeakable desolation on the mortal realm. And she did it out of spite. She wanted eternity, and if she could not have it, then neither could her usurper. 

She and the Wyrm both were, quite honestly, monumental fools. Mortals are not meant for stasis. The _world_ is not meant for stasis. All they were doing was turning their play into a gruesome, anticlimactic tragedy, all because neither of them wanted to share the stage. 

Grimm knew all of this to be true. The cycle, the movement, the rising and falling action, all of it was sacred.

He'd been a fool, then, too. And not even the entertaining kind. See, he’d made something of an impulsive decision at the height of the Light’s tantrum, when she’d been at the lowest point of her power. The first rule of improvisation was to say "yes" to whatever was happening, so to allow the scene to progress toward some natural conclusion. And he'd gone and broken that rule.

And now, he had no idea if he'd get a do-over in a new life. The Troupe Master has re-written his own role. Re-writes, he knew, did not bode well for any production that was already playing for audiences.

-

"Ogrim, is that you? I'd know your presence anywhere, dear friend. What brings you to the gardens? And how is my fierce Dryya?"

"My Queen," he bowed low, and stayed that way. "She is well, as ever. I come seeking… your guidance, I suppose."

"Is that so? Ah, how nostalgic. Surely by now, you have cultivated your own methods of dealing with matters of...aristocratic inconvenience."

"Ha, yes, it's not that. My queen… forgive me if I overstep, but, if I may... ask you about our new recruit? The one sent to us by his majesty the king?"

"You may, if I might also ask something of my own. Why come to me, and not my Wyrm?"

"...There are… ah… matters of security, I believe, that I confess not to be entirely certain on the specifics of, and wish to take care not to breach."

"Matters of security privy to me, but not the sovereign god to whom your oath still stands?"

"My oath is to the glory of Hallownest, as much as the King. And I… can find no glory in the idea of possibly risking the freedom of my own charge, who I admit to already be quite fond of, when I believe I can just as easily take action with their happiness in mind."

"...You may rise, White Defender. I expected this was coming, and I apologize if the risk I took with my actions caused you any crisis of loyalty. Know that it is not my intention to go against the king in any way. I only thought it might be worth it, to see if the knights whose ranks they would join would show more concern for their new ward, or more concern with the displeasure of their father."

Ogrim privately thought that he and Dryya had been doing a fine job of fielding upset fathers of trainees, over the years.

...And overprotective mothers, on that note. 

"So the king knows of your letters?"

"He does not."

"But why-- forgive me for questioning your actions, your majesty, but--"

"It's quite alright. Sit with me, and I will explain my plans. But first, if you would be so kind as to indulge me, a moment… Tell me, how does my child fare?"

"........Er. About that."

Ogrim swore that if he survived this part, he would never complain about having to report unfavorably to a trainee's lesser-noble parents again. 

-

There was another way into the abyss. 

It was hidden, far below Deepnest, and normally only accessible by smaller creatures. The vessel could have crawled out this way when it had been newly hatched. Any of them could have. But the light called them all to ascend, and all of them tried. And all of them failed. The vessel wouldn't be here if that weren't true. 

And here it was sat on a cliff overlooking the abyss. It sat properly, legs under, knees in front, and hands resting on top of them. Back straight. Like it was waiting on an order, or on a lecture. The void offered neither. 

It relaxed somewhat, after a minute or so. Creatures of light and soul often spoke of the call of the void. The vessel, being of void itself, couldn't hear it. Nothingness didn't need _more_ nothingness, after all. It wanted for everything it didn't already have. That made it even more jarring, then, how the white of its mask gleamed in such stark contrast with the dark surrounding it. It looked so out of place. It supposed it was, even here. No place would ever be quite right for it, patchwork thing of incompatible parts that it was. It didn't belong anywhere anymore. 

It debated jumping down, with a clinical sort of consideration. Would the sea reclaim it? Were there still corpses, or could things decompose down here? There wasn't exactly any ground for the little shells to return to. Perhaps they were all still there. Thousands of corpses lining the abyssal floor like newspaper in a maskfly cage. It was far too dark and too high up to see anything from here, unless the nothing _was_ all that was down there. It thought it might crumple the letters from its family, and toss them down. _That_ somehow felt worse than the idea of just throwing _itself_ down. Strange that such an irrational, flawed creation managed to climb its way out from all the way down there as a hatchling. 

Maybe it _would_ be nice to return to its birthplace. It couldn't disappoint anyone there. The void only calls, and asks nothing else. If anything, it could spend the rest of its days counting the shells of its siblings.

The vessel was more distracted than it realized. It could only react by reaching back for its nail when something small prodded at its side. 

"I _got_ you! You're dead."

Hornet stood there, shellwood needle tip lightly jabbed into its chitin. She stood proud, in battle stance and everything.

"Did I scare you? I _told_ you I'd finally sneak up on you!"

The vessel stared outright. It remembered to put its arm down. 

"I saw you in Deepnest! You were going fast, but not too fast for _me._ Why didn't you come visit?" She demanded, pointing the needle up at its face, now. It continued to stare. There was a child at the edge of the abyss with it. A living child, and the _actual_ princess of Deepnest. Who apparently followed it through the entirety of Deepnest without tiring. She seemed to find no qualms with any of this. 

"...Where are we? I've never been this far down before," she walked closer to the edge, peering over. An undeniable surge of panic shot through the vessel, and it whipped out a hand to hold her back.

"Huh--Why? What's down there?"

The vessel looked at her, and slowly and deliberately shook its head. 

"What do you mean _’no’?_ Is there anyone down there?"

Once more.

"So there's _nothing_ down there?"

That was probably the truest thing one could say. It nodded, once. 

She peered off into the darkness again, considering, but made no move to step closer. 

"...That's one big hole," she decided. She surprised it by calling out a long 'hello' into the void at top volume. The abyss drank the sound away, not leaving anything to echo back. Her attention shifted back to the vessel. 

"So why are _you_ here, then?" She asked. Hornet was the one person in the vessel's life who had no idea what it was meant to be. She always assumed that it was doing whatever it was doing by its own decision. She thought it to think and plan and decide, and right now, she thought it had planned _ahead._ That particular skill may have been a bit too advanced for it, at the moment. It was here now, and that was about all it had going for it.

Its stillness never seemed to bother her. She sat down next to it, looking all around for anything that wasn't just dark. The vessel found itself to be thankful that she took no more interest in the abyss itself. Perhaps the god blood in her was too self-preserving to let her hear its call. Or maybe she was just too stubborn to answer it.

"Did you get my letter?" She asked suddenly, prompting assent from it. That seemed to make her happy. 

"Good! Write me back, okay?" 

The vessel found itself shaking its head. 

"...What? Why not?!"

It kept at it. It didn't know. It couldn't. It had nothing to offer her, not even the dignity of communication. It never had anything to offer her, and she'd soon get bored with the empty parody of company that it gave her. 

She seemed to hesitate. It had expected more outrage.

"...Do you know how to write? I'm learning, but it's hard. I like nail fighting better," she proclaimed.

It paused. Answered in the negative, again.

"Ohhh! That's okay then. I think reading is easier, too. ...Do you want me to teach you some?" She asked, rummaging around in her cloak for something. The vessel sat motionless, just watching. 

"...I don't have any paper. All I have is silk. Mother says we make paper out of silk, but I don't know how to do that." She gave up, at length, after producing a bulky child's quill.

The vessel succumbed to an odd impulse, just then. Nothing really _technically_ prompted it to pull one of the queen's letters out from their cloak, and set it on the ground blank side up. But the action got a little cheer out of the child, who sat in front of it and beckoned the vessel closer. 

She wrote. First just her name. She was good at that one, and messily explained how to do the individual letters, as well as warning it of which ones she found difficult to make. She tried other words, with varying success. Herrah, Midwife, silk, root, needle, hollow with a capital H. 

"You try it!" She held out the quill. It took it out of pure reflex, and the utensil was comically tiny and uncomfortable in its hand. It sort of had to pinch it between two fingers. 

"Try anything. Like your name! My name was the first thing _I_ learned to write," Hornet suggested. 

It recognized the ugly bubbling tightness inside of it as _frustration._ Recently named, and fit sticky and disgusting in their abdomen. It was even worse for the fact that it _knew_ she wasn't trying to be cruel.

But that didn't change the fact that it was never allowed even that most basic degree of identity. No proper address beyond the title of what service it performed for the kingdom. The irony in the way Hornet liked to shorten that had felt like some sort of sacrilege, at first, but now it was almost _funny._ Like a joke, at the expense of the solemn gravity the King had bequeathed upon “The Hollow Knight”. Its complete and utter lack of self was a joke.

The quill snapped in its fingers. The vessel went rigid. It had been involuntary, but it had broken something. It’d broken something of Hornet's.

The vessel was suddenly certain that something inside it was cracked, and if it moved, it'd crumble like splintered ice. It did feel oddly cold around its face. It might be dying. The void might actually be taking it, just bit by bit. Hornet looked frozen, and a little afraid. Of its strength? Did she think it was angry? Why was she still here? She needed to leave, it had _less_ than nothing for--

"It's okay!! No, it's okay, I'm not mad! It wasn't even my pen! Please stop crying?" She sort of scrambled, looking around as if anyone who could help with the situation might suddenly appear. 

Maybe there really was literal ice inside it at that moment, because _something_ certainly formed a frozen rock in its gut at her words.

Slowly, it brought a hand up to its face, under the mask's eyehole. It looked at its claws. Liquid void, like what it bled. 

Why was it bleeding? Hornet couldn't be _right._ Why was it bleeding? Why wouldn't it stop? It couldn't even think to focus the wound shut. It didn't know where the wound could be, but there had to be one, for there was clearly _something wrong with it._

Hornet approached it, now. It _flinched._ What was she going to tell her mother? Their _father?_

"It's okay. I won't tell, I promise. I can even say I broke it. I break things all the time," she offered in a tiny voice, hands on its arm that still held the splintered quill.

That's right. Siblings don't tell. 

The vessel heaved an odd breath that felt like a hiccup. The void was still leaking from it in that unnatural half-liquid-half-gas substance. It would fade, stainless. If it ever stopped. The vessel tried to will it to stop. In response to Hornet, it shook its head. No need for any of that.

She still seemed uncertain, and sat close, speaking again after another few moments while the vessel waited for this episode to be done with. 

"...Are you here because you're hiding? I like to hide too, sometimes. Like when I'm mad, and I wanna be by myself. ...Or when I'm scared. I'm not _supposed_ to be scared, though. Spiders are the scariest things in the world. And I'm the princess. I think maybe I get scared because my father is a worm. Mother says worms burrow and hide in the dirt. I don't _want_ to be a worm." She grumbled that last bit. 

"I'm going to be the _best_ spider, because that's what _I want_ to be. I'm going to train with the Hive, and I'll be able to protect Deepnest like mother does. And I know you're from Hallownest, but I'll protect you, too! Maybe all of Hallownest too, if I have to. Everything!" She announced, standing now, needle drawn. 

"Oh--I even learned my silk, see?!" She showed it a little display of spider soul magic, as if that proved her point. 

"So _stop crying!"_ The child demanded, pointing at it with her weapon again, accusatory. 

The vessel would look back on this moment, one day, and pinpoint it as the exact second that it learned the difference between deferring to someone, and truly _trusting_ them. Even in that moment with its mother, where she'd asked it to express itself the first way it learned how, it had been waiting for some sort of punishment. But not here. Siblings don't tell.

To that point, it indulged the first impulse that came to it next, too frayed from the day’s events to think twice.

It picked Hornet up, and squeezed her to its chest in its arms, nuzzling at her mask with its own. She cried out in surprise, and then utter indignation. But she was just so _adorable._ So criminally tiny, and said such funny things. Nothing had any right to be this cute. How were the royal retainers always scolding her? A face like that couldn't possibly do any wrong. 

_"Eww!!_ Hollow! Quit it! Your face is wet!! I'm gonna _stab_ you! I mean it!!" She threatened, shoving back at its mask. 

Fair enough. It stopped with the doting and smothering, and relaxed its grip enough for her to jump down on her own. It was reluctant to actually drop her. And maybe she realized that it had never been blatantly affectionate before. Or maybe she was just relieved that it was no longer leaking void. But she did not jump down immediately, and simply allowed it to hold her. 

"So you're okay now?" She asked, more quietly. 

That might be a stretch. But she seemed content to take its stillness as something closer to normalcy.

"Good."

The two sat at the mouth of the abyss a little longer. Hornet wouldn't let the vessel get too lost in its own head.

"How far down does that go?" She asked at length, pointing back to the emptiness. The vessel could only nod. 

"Wow. If that's all the way down, how far is all the way _up?"_

It wasn't quite sure what she was asking. The abyss only goes the one way. But Hallownest seems to stretch in every direction, from what it had seen so far. Was there an inverse abyss? Some sort of ceiling to the world?

It imagined, for a moment. 

-

The White Lady couldn't be particularly upset with the knights. Especially with the verbal acrobatics Ogrim had performed to avoid having to outright state that they'd lost her entire child. And he was still going. She finally just held up a hand to quiet him.

"Loyal Ogrim. Please, be at peace. No one will be punished for this."

"I--Really?"

"Yes. ...I will freely admit that I do worry for them, but I know they are strong enough to be safe wherever they've chosen to go. And it is the simple fact that they made the _choice_ to run away at all that gives me as much hope and pride for them as it does concern. Believe it or not, I believe any act of rebellion from them to be a sign of growth."

A _miracle,_ really. They never went anywhere without being told. Ever. She idly wondered if any other mothers of teenagers would feel this sort of pride in hearing their child had the  
independence to run off on their own. Certainly not. They most likely responded with groundings and such, and there was probably less general surprise about behavior like that in other children. 

(Herrah was _already_ having this problem with Hornet, after all. What a frightfully agile thing that girl was going to grow into. The Lady bet she'd easily traverse all of Hallownest if left unattended.)

"...Shall I direct a search party?" Ogrim asked.

The Lady thought for a moment, and then gathered her courage. 

"...I believe we should wait, just a bit. I would want for them to enjoy freedom of their own making long enough to choose to come home, if they do make that choice. If they are found, I would only desire for them to know we harbor no anger toward them." 

"They fled into Deepnest, my queen." He seemed openly worried. 

"Then I feel some relief knowing they are among our allies. I suspect we may yet receive news of their whereabouts, even without your direct intercession,” she defended the den of spiders with confidence.

Herrah kept a close eye on things. If she could keep little Hornet from zipping out of sight day by day, she and her Devout would probably have no trouble spotting such a tall, pale thing in her realm. 

-

It was at about this point when Herrah checked Hornet's nest, and pulled back some fabric to find a roughly child sized lump of loose silk, haphazardly covered up where an _actual_ child should have been napping. 

"...Alright,"

-

"Give it a day," The White Lady said finally. "Then search, and report to me on their safety. I implore you not to force their return. They only need to know that they are always welcome home, in their own kingdom.”

"Yes, your majesty."

Neither of them brought up the Pale King's role in these proceedings. The White Lady was being...careful about him, for now. He was making progress on the subject of the Vessel, sure, but his other big projects have left him in what she’d charitably describe as poor spirits. She knew when his focus was singular, and right now, it was singularly on tracking down, of all things, a circus caravan. 

She wasn't so worried as he. Hallownest would never accept so foreign a king, especially while her Wyrm still lived. And certainly not one whose nature was as a nomadic scavenger. Her Wyrm seemed certain of the importance of this new quest, but the Lady had her doubts. Their kingdom thrived. What did Hallownest possibly have to offer, that clan and master could feed to their Heart of Nightmare?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone loses their kid at one point im sure its fine   
> my mom once found me at the wrong elementary school. Its Fine


	13. Vexilla Regis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though once I came by lantern's call,  
> For Nightmare's heart I'll now hold all.
> 
> Amalgam of dreams. The brimming vessel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> general body horror warning. unsure if it counts as graphic, but the word "graphic" feels, uh, merited. in a sense  
> take care

The vessel had learned from watching Hornet. When one wanted to find something, they explored. It didn't matter if they didn't know what that thing was. On the child's end, wandering and getting into things seemed to bring no small amount of joy. There were fun things to be found everywhere. 

The vessel wasn't sure what it had left, if anything. It didn't know what a thing without a use that did not _like_ the uses decided for it was meant to do. It didn't know very much about itself. It wasn't even sure if it could truly be called an "it". It always considered itself no different from the Kingsmoulds, in origin and in function. But the Kingsmoulds were too simple for most of the orders given to the vessel. They didn't have shells, nor any masks to stabilize the mind bequeathed by Kingslight. They had no soul to focus. It supposed there were actually quite a few differences between them. 

Could a Kingsmould love someone so much, it wondered as it escorted its little sister back to Deepnest. Could a Kingsmould fear? Could it have feelings that were so many things at once that it ended up confused, and so _tired?_ It tried not to think of the knights, who seemed so kind, or of the queen, and the conversations she had with it in the hallways full of flowers, or the way she'd taught it to weave certain kinds around its armor and horns as wishes. It tried not to think of the king, who raised it, tutored it, looked at it with pride, and taught it to care for the kingdom. All of them hurt, and all of them hurt differently from each other. And if the vessel was a coward, then that was the first piece of identity that it would willingly call its own.

It had a lot of questions about itself. It hadn't found any answers in the palace, nor in Hallownest proper, nor in its twice-damned birthplace. But if there was an "all the way down," then maybe, yes, there was an "all the way up". It had found a new life by desperate ascent before. That had been the first thing it had done of its own volition, and then the last for a long, long time. Perhaps it was due to try again. 

There were many Devout scouting Deepnest when the vessel returned with Hornet. At the sight of them, Hornet hid with a suspicious swiftness behind the vessel's cloak, and urged it to just keep walking and act natural. Ah. So they were _both_ fugitives.

(This at least partly answered its previous question about how Deepnest kept their young contained at home. At the very least, was definitely _not_ by preventing escape in the first place. Gods help them all.)

A Devout looked right at it.

With a quick breath and a flicker of void, it swept its sister into an arm and teleported away, high up onto a ledge before ducking out of sight. It heard her squeak of surprise, and then she just started bouncing in excitement.

_"I didn't know you could do that!"_ she whispered loudly. It stood, and looked at how far up was still to go to get to Herrah’s den. Hornet could definitely climb up on her own, but it felt practical to have her ride on its shoulder to keep from either of them getting lost or caught. It stopped once close, and waited for her to get down.

"...Where are you going now?" She asked, looking between it and her home, just in reach. She was obviously reluctant to go back. 

The vessel pointed up. 

"... _All the way_ to the top?" She gasped.

It nodded. 

"I _knew_ that hole was the bottom of the world! Okay, let's go, I wanna see the other side!" She hopped down, practically dragging them by the hem of their cloak. "My friends told me about a secret hole in the ceiling that leads to a forest. We can go through there!"

Alright. It couldn't possibly be a long trip, between things like stagways and elevators. And if it had no other purpose, it could once again be a protector, this time in a way that mattered. And she'd agreed to go where it wanted, not the other way around.

That concept terrified it. But what _didn't_ , these days? It remembered well, that one of the very first things it had ever been, after the desperation of following the Kingslight, was _curious_. And now that it was again, it found itself clinging to that.

It had a climb to begin. Together with its sibling, this time. There would be no leaving any little masks to fall behind.

-

The Pale King held no ill will towards the Nightmare Troupe. They had their domain, and he had his, and they would have no reason to lurk about a living kingdom. They concerned themselves with things extinct, and with the memories left behind by consequence. 

The fact that the Nightmare King himself was somewhere in the kingdom, then, was disconcerting at the very least. 

Now, there was the deceptively simple question of what to _do_ about that. There was no doubt now that the Troupe had a hand in the disappearance of the Radiance. Whatever that even meant. Certainly the Nightmare Heart didn't have the kind of power to _kill_ her outright. It subsisted on relatively little, and ruled over such a niche domain. The worship of a few lost souls in clown makeup, and scant meals consisting of the echoes of suffering does _not_ an all-powerful being make. And that aside, the Nightmare King didn't seem particularly violent, from what research the Pale King had done on the Heart. But perhaps that was only because he rarely needed to be. A scavenger has no need to risk itself hunting for fresh meat, when it would be just as content with rot and scraps. 

But she had been weakened. Who knows how much of her power she was expending on infecting every living soul she could get her wings on. But why _him_ ? And if it was him _,_ why wouldn't he just wait for her to be done, and wait for the chance to feast on the much more filling carcass of Hallownest if it fell? The Nightmare Heart was never desperate. Civilizations fell all the time, no matter their size or scope. A battlefield turned graveyard was often soaking in enough nightmares to satisfy it, as far as the Pale King knew. 

But theorizing on the Troupe's reasoning didn't help him get any closer to a plan of action, if one needed to be taken. He ought to do _something_ , right? It was true that the apparent banishment of the Radiance had been an incredible service to his kingdom. But the Grimm Troupe was still trespassing, still ominous and hungry wherever it was stationed, and was apparently going about setting people on _fire._ The Pale King concluded it was in his best interest to uproot the Heart and expel the Troupe. If they came by sacrificial lantern, he'd have it destroyed. If not, then a parlay between kings may be in order. 

His neutrality on the Nightmare realm notwithstanding, he lamented the idea of having to take an audience with its king on his own turf. Granted, he wasn't particularly dangerous to the Pale King, and performed an important function for the divine ecosystem. 

But none of that prevented Grimm as a _person_ from being an insufferable fop.

The king laid out plans, referencing what he knew. Since he'd supplied Monomon with all the new information, she'd been able to inform him that yes, nearly all of the previously infected bugs she'd interviewed now suffered from nightmares, and those who'd recovered from the worst cases spoke of strange music in their dreams, whenever they deigned to sleep at all. But there were no _real world_ reports of anyone hearing music or seeing circus tents in the City of Tears. And he didn't need his foresight to tell him that the Mantises would not be forthcoming with any information about their lands, especially not while they were so vulnerable. The king had no reason to believe the big top was set up anywhere nearby. 

He could ask Herrah for any news on strange happenings in Deepnest, but figured he'd know already if there was. She and the White Lady seemed like they were becoming closer friends as of late, and she likely would have mentioned a flaming circus caravan to his wife if there had been any.

Though that did give him an idea. One so obvious that he attributed the reason he hadn't thought of it sooner to his now uncounted number of consecutive days without sleep.

(He made sure not to mention that to his Lady when he met up with her again, though he knew she had considerable skill in reading him.)

Meeting her in her garden again made him think of the first time he’d done so in years, so recently. He hadn’t been entirely sure of the right way to approach her, and it definitely showed. It was proof of how much things had already improved, when he now was able to walk right up to her here without having to steel himself first. He did still hesitate for a second, but only because he was momentarily confused on where exactly in the garden he’d ended up. Every area here sort of looked the same to him, though he could admit it was all beautiful.

He greeted his wife, and squinted out. “...Has there always been a fountain, here?” 

“No, this is new. It’d been untamed land for a while. I thought I might convert the space into a safe area for Hornet to play, and to perhaps bring any little school friends she makes once she begins her formal education,” she explained, looking out at the new construct. No water ran through it yet, but, the King got the sense that they were both seeing the same thing as they looked at it. The bright blue glow of it that’d hit overhead alubas on their underbellies while they drifted. In front, a small clearing of grass for children to take a picnic. They’d no doubt get petals and toys and other detritus all over the place, though that’d only serve to highlight the purpose of the area as somewhere to be lived in, and well loved.  
  
The king had a thought. “How do you presume to keep Hornet from trying to play in the fountain?” 

“For the first while, I will presume absolutely nothing, and shall only do whatever I can to preserve some semblance of order,” she answered, already sounding equal parts resigned and fond. The king did not keep down a chuckle, but it sounded tired even to his own ear. 

“Is something the matter?" She asked directly, looking at him. It was silly, but that caused him some relief. Of course they could be blunt again, even out here.

"...Well, yes. You're aware of my efforts to track the Grimm Troupe. I've made little progress since learning of their existence in our kingdom. It… only now occurred to me to ask if _you_ might be able to feel them anywhere, within your roots?" He admitted, wondering if there was ever going to be a point where directly asking for help like this wasn't going to leave him feeling like a defensive _nymph_ again. If he expected teasing, it never came. She only thought for a minute, and blinked something out of her eyes.

"...No, my Wyrm. I can sense the blisters of destruction, but no intruding deities on our soil," she said at length. If being attuned with all that burnt land caused her roots any pain, she didn't show it. 

"... That can't be possible. Your reach stretches nearly to the _surface."_

"Then if the Troupe indeed remains anywhere near Hallownest," she countered easily, "They may very well camp beyond that surface."

"... You do not believe they're still here?" 

"I do have my doubts. And even if they _are_ here, do we not owe them some gratitude for their supposed role in our kingdom's recuperation?" His Lady asked, seeming utterly unbothered by his current main source of stress. She took a second to pull a bloom from a nearby branch, something with many thin petals that littered the ground below the brush, and offered it to him. He took it on reflex.

"... I suppose we would, if turns out to be true that the Nightmare King drove _her_ out by his own power." And if the kingdom didn't burn to the ground by consequence.

"... And you do not believe that's what happened." It wasn't a question.

He flickered, steadied it in the same second. "... I do not know _what_ happened, but none of this sits _right_ with me. The Nightmare King is a lesser god; a shard of his former realm, at best. The Heart wrenched out from that realm is only a single organ, whereas the Radiance effectively kept the entire _body_. He should not possess the strength to challenge her." 

He found himself picking the petals out of the flower with one claw. Froze for a second at the realization, but his Lady only seemed to be thinking on his words. 

"... You make a good point. How curious." 

"My musings, or the fact that I speak sense at all?"

"It pleases me that his majesty retains a sense of humor."

He scoffed, relaxing despite himself. When he noticed himself pulling petals again, he didn't stop it.

"... I need to _know_ ," he said, at length.

"I know you do," she affirmed gently.

They stood together, until the Lady bade him sit with her for a moment, at the lip of the fountain. This really was a nice area. The colors were all coordinated and natural, and didn't strain his eyes like the glimmer of the palace. Of course, that new stimulation had been half the point of it when he'd built it. Still. He supposed just one short reprieve wouldn't hurt.

He wondered yet again, while he finished off the flower head, where in the world the Troupe had chosen to set up, if not anywhere of particular importance to the kingdom. There were plenty of nightmares to be had in, say, the Soul Sanctum, or in the ravaged belly of Deepnest, or _anywhere_ in the city. The ostentatious prick had never before cared to be _discreet_ with his arrivals. Circus tents weren't something one hid away up in some crevice, or in the dank mines of the Crystal Caverns.

No, if he couldn't set up somewhere obviously in front of people, he'd at least want to pick some spectacular location. A "grand stage" for his performance, or whatever nonsense. Grimm and the Radiance were similar in that way, the king supposed. Always wanting to be seen. Announcing their presences, brashly rising high above the lowly masses and even other _gods_ in a peacock display of their splendor--

…

Oh, fuck him.

"I have to leave." He stood, brushed off his robes.

"My Wyrm?" 

"Forgive me, my love, but I've a meeting with a foreign king. And at the same time his company, by nature."

"You do not sound particularly pleased with the idea," the queen remarked.

"In all fairness, you know me to possess little patience for social obligations. I confess I hold even less of it for _heights."_

-

Up, up, up. 

This should be familiar, but it was turning out to be such a far cry from the vessel's first ascent. It had been single-minded, focused, and yes _, desperate--_ among so many other things that would have quickly outed it as flawed, had the king only been able to sense past the outer stain of void. 

The world _now_ wasn't sharp ledges, nor dark and danger, nor little corpses that fell past it like leaden weights. It was all winding paths, and massive elevators, and mushrooms, and pulleys. It was already so numb to newness after these past few days, that it hadn't even reacted to the reverberant caves full of glowing crystals. Perhaps the sight would have caused it to faint, if it had been shown this place straightaway after its lifelong isolation in the palace.

Was this place beautiful? Was it terrifying? Hornet had shrieked in delight, and went to pick up some shards-- more souvenirs of many so far-- to keep for herself. The vessel did not understand how anyone could tell the difference between something being too much of good, or too much of bad, when it was just so _much_ of what it _was_. It was pink. 

This too it ascended, already braced for the next impossible thing the two might see on their quest for "all the way up". Its back twinged. Its shell itched, and was starting to creak at the joints. Its limbs burned. But all of that felt _better_ than how it felt to think of wanting its bed, wanting its parents, wanting a home. And so it climbed. As if it'd find another purpose for itself if it reached the top of the world. Something easy, something that offered no chance of confusion or complication.

( _Do not think. It's more useful to just hope_.)

-

The Pale King readied a fine company of Kingsmoulds to accompany him to the crown of Hallownest. He didn't know what to expect once up there, but it wouldn't do to bring any living bugs with him, who'd be susceptible to either dying of fright, or getting lured into the fire themselves. He'd already had quite enough of losing subjects to other gods in his own land. 

A few minutes ago, he received news of a fire in the barracks housing the Watcher Knights up in Lurien's tower. He and his staff had been forced to evacuate, but apparently it'd gotten under control quickly enough. The knights that got out were fine, but there was not yet news of the rest. But the king did not need it. They would never be found, not in the way that everyone was going to look for their bodies.

He had to move quickly. Even if it was only the most dangerous of old cases that had combusted so far _, all_ of the recovered infected were suffering nightmares. Every last person Monomon had interviewed. His foresight offered the chance that things would escalate.

This would not be the sort of plague they could explain away as a germ. It would _raze_ _them to the ground_ , and devastate the kingdom with a swiftness the Radiance could not manage.

The king went by stag as far up as one would go, and resigned himself to having to fly the rest of the way. He did not like to do anything to publicly announce his presence, but here, it turned out not to matter. Everyone living in the surface town where he ended up was holed away in their homes, curtains drawn, and in some instances windows were boarded. The air was _thick_ with fear. The king practically waded in it, forcibly aware of the way it warped the minds that _he'd_ bestowed. 

His theory proved right. High up on the cliffside to the east, where the mines hollowed out the entire mountain, a dim red light made the air above glow in a hazy beacon. 

Was it purely red, or did he see _orange_?

-

"I mean it, I can _hear_ it! It's music! Hurry up!"

The vessel had little experience with music, aside from the occasional fanfare of a parade outside, or when various instruments were muted under the uproar of a festival. But it definitely did hear something, now. Something _smelled_ off, too. Over-sweet, like someone was burning a batch of fake sugar.

...Burning. It was warm up here. And it was only getting warmer.

The vessel was not fast enough to grab Hornet before she darted up out of the cavern to the surface. It scrambled after her, cursed its lack of a voice to cry warning.

-

The King and his company wasted no time flying to Hallownest's crown. There were circus tents, as expected. But they were massive, and they were sloppy, as if set up in a hurry. Support poles jammed into the ground at angles, and left the already unsettling printed face of the Troupe looking caved in at random sides. His mind supplied him with the imagery of a bug's skull getting crushed underfoot.

He entered, flanked by his guards. He was greeted by fog, dense and dull scarlet. He couldn't see the center stage. Expelling no effort, he shone brilliantly to allow his own body to act as a high beam, so as to cut a path through it.

No sooner than he did that, the ground quaked, and something _screeched_ , the rage of it causing the void of his Kingsmoulds to quiver and nearly destabilize. They held fast, and the fog cleared in a hot rush of wind. It carried orange debris, and the king could not will himself to breathe in. 

The heart beat. He could not see it, knew it not to be on this plane, but he could hear it coursing through its precious vessel. Following the sound, the King finally saw that vessel, the master of this place, suspended upon the main support pole in the center of the stage. Bound not by rope, or by chain, but by the heaving orange arteries that spilled forth from the mass of pustules that bubbled out from his abdomen. The Nightmare's vessel was infected, but that was not all. 

His wings were singed to tatters at the bottom, and gave way to feathers in patches closer to his arms. Downy fluff covered him in random angry patterns around him like hives, growing from the places where black carapace cracked and split. Orange oozed from there, too. His face was mostly recognizable, but for the new three-pronged crown of horns that clashed with his own, and the way his eyes swirled and roiled between orange and scarlet the way water and oil would struggle to maintain their individualities when blended. 

The Nightmare's vessel had not tried to destroy the Radiance. He had sought to reunite the Dream realm, by way of absorbing her into himself in an act of divine cannibalism.

" _What have you done?_ " The Pale King still asked. 

The thing that was not entirely Grimm hissed, or wheezed. 

"...For the Heart…" he, it _, they_ in plural rasped, "One to hold two… For unity…. Made whole… They. Do not. _Want_. To be whole."

As the splintered thing spoke, the void within his Kingsmoulds again trembled. The Radiance--he _recognized_ her voice tearing from his shared throat-- screamed her fury. The Kingsmoulds fell to puddles, empty armor clattering to the floor as the void seeped down to return to its source. 

"--WILL NOT CONTAIN. WILL NOT--" 

Grimm nearly broke free from his grown bonds, but they held fast, and his convulsions stopped as quickly as they began. The king hadn't even realized he'd been shielding himself, and again stood his ground. 

"You contemptuous _clown._ For a vessel with its own will to try and contain _one_ god is already near too much. You frequently have to reincarnate yourself just to bear the strain of your consenting Heart of Nightmare. What were you _thinking?!"_ He stepped forward, trying for all the world to act like the fearless omnipotent his subjects thought he was. 

"She… was weak. I … was… not. This shell… new. Young… strong. I thought… to reclaim what was once…" He croaked, the arteries of infection beating with the weakness of a clogged pulse. "To pass the power to my child. To pass it all to the future. Burn her… Feed us. She… disagrees." He rasped a laugh that sounded more like a death rattle. 

" _She_ is not even adequately contained! The only ones being _burned_ for your arrhythmia are those who have already suffered."

"I… know. Do you?"

"I _beg_ your pardon, you _necrotized composite_?"

"She… we… see the pain... and the fear. She shows me your higher beings… how little they know of you… of your fault in their deaths. Of your hubris. I see … the nightmares that stain you. Your… clothes. Your crown… Your… hands.” 

He took a deep, wheezing breath, as if he'd just spent a very long time underwater, before continuing in more than one voice.

“Thousands… upon thousands… upon _thousands_ … of little… cold… _hands_."

The arteries holding him _burst_. The king summoned a flurry of soul daggers, which haloed his form at the ready. 

A lot of things happened in quick succession. It's impossible to tell if the pillars of flame and infection came first, or if the Pale King fired his spell into the corrupted vessel before they flared. Either way, the king sustained an injury. It was minor; he would have fled otherwise. Just a puncture that sent a spritz of soul sizzling in the air behind him.

But at the amalgam’s next attack, he was intercepted by a nail, the scrape of its pale ore edge against knife-point claws ringing out. The Hollow Knight took advantage of the successful surprise, and slammed Grimm back with another quick swing. It stood, then, defending the king, as it had always been told. 

The way it now looked back at him, unbidden, reminded him to face his more willingly buried assertions. There were no orders currently being followed. They only sought to protect their father. 

He could only stare, wondering if it was panic or an ingrained reflex that caused their action. He said nothing, for he'd had to make the conscious effort to not make his next words to them "Why aren't you at the barracks?"

Flame erupted around the perimeter of the stage, intensifying in time with the Old Light's next cry. Through Grimm, she rent the ground with spikes and geysers of sick. The two were forced to hop about in a deadly mockery of a dance to avoid it all. The King found relative safety through his wings once he remembered to use them, though staying in flight was a huge effort amidst all the fire. Burning pools of infection choked the tent with noxious black smoke, and likely plumed from its mouth out far into the sky.

The Vessel was not quite so lucky in their evasion. A geyser knocked them off balance, but they regained themself quickly enough to block a jerking lunge by Grimm, who now moved like a marionette being whipped back and forth from the string control. The Vessel staggered him with ease, and buried the tip of their nail into the mass of pustules where his heart should have been, and it pierced clean through him. Infection burst forth, and they did it again, and again. Their arms trembled for just a moment while they'd been in the air for a fourth strike, but it provided enough time for the godtrap to briefly escape by way of exploding into a shower of flame. The Vessel got the full brunt of this. The king watched as bits of their shell chipped off, where it splintered in places. 

Another flurry of soul nails, these at least twice as long as either vessel was tall, formed in the air around the Pale King. He fired them at their abhorrent foe, but did not aim to kill. They buried into the ground as close to him as possible, interlocking around his limbs, leaving him caged and cutting where they touched him. He was already so cracked, now. A new fissure ran straight down the middle of his face. He felt pity for Grimm, but he would no longer stand by and allow his own creation-- his _child--_ yet more needless suffering. The king would have already killed him, were it not for the threat of freeing the Radiance. 

In truth, he was at a loss for what to do. He could not hold them forever. There were no seals, no Dreamers, no Pure Vessel, and now he flew stalled, bearing the full consequences of his actions head on. 

All he could do was hope for was to die quickly, and to have the courage to do so with his kingdom.

-

The vessel pushed itself up, and saw the monster caged. It could run. it could sprint forward and cut its enemy to pieces. 

The void sang so strongly in its veins. The creature in front of it _hated_ it, hated it so _much_. It felt a pulling at its consciousness, like something wanted to rip its soul right out of its mask and boil it to vapor. Whispers of an ancient enemy. The fury of another god.

So this was Her.

She would be freed. Whoever this _new_ vessel was, he'd be dead soon enough at the rate she was eating through him. The kingdom had only had a taste of what she would do, and was easily laid low.

So, then, in the end, it was always going to be needed to fulfill its _true_ purpose.

Its father, a thing of logic and meaning, once spoke of a proverb that posited the simplest answer to a question was often the best solution. He'd always had little patience for those who wasted time by faffing about with things that weren't very likely. All that complicated trouble he'd gone through for the vessel to exist had been testament to his desperation, and to the inescapable destiny of the Hollow Knight.

Fine, then. This was okay. For it had always loved its kingdom, truly. It would be thankful for the fact that this would be its own choice, in the end, but there was really no choice to be made. This end for it was only fate. It just regretted that the poor creature in front of it had to bear its burden while it had been off playing house.

It focused. The creature was already so weak that the infection was absorbing into the vessel with ease. Its shell already felt too small for it. The king shouted something, though the roar of wind blotted out what that could have been. It had been angry with him, but it still hoped he'd be proud.

There was another shout, and this one pierced through the vacuum. It was accompanied by the whizz of a small needle, shellwood, but pointed and thrown with force. It lodged itself directly in the crack in the creature's face. After it, pulled by a thin strand of soul silk, the littlest hunter in Hallownest alighted on his head, and drove the needle in deeper. She yelled something. 

Its efforts stuttered. The king was shouting, calling them "children", begging them to run. Hornet was losing her footing where she stood on the monster's face. The vessel could see foreign essences spilling with infection from where the needle was wedged. The Old Light screamed through it all. The beating of an unseen heart thundered louder.

_Too much._

The vessel dug its hands into the cracks of its faded, splintered shell, and _ripped._

The shade of its will exploded out from it. 

The shade _lunged_.

-

The Radiance was once beautiful. Once larger and brighter than the twinkling stars that floated so very far away, irrelevant to the wonderful creatures here on the ground that praised and sang and prayed. 

She had loved them. They had loved her. And then one day, a simple, slithering creature decided it wanted to be the new guiding light. It hadn’t done so because it noticed the way she was worshiped. It had never even _looked_ at her.

It fancied itself creator. It proved itself despot. It offered no indication that it cared for its followers, _her_ followers, even a fraction of how she had done for millenia upon millena. 

And yet, they chose him. 

_Why?_

Slowly they went from calling her Light, to Old Light, to nothing at all. She’d had no idea how fickle love could be. How thankless the thing that once made her shine so vibrant would prove. Should love not go both ways? Should they not need her just as much as she needed them? 

And now, should they not suffer the way they made her suffer? 

Love was not blind. Wyrms were blind. Love was needy. Love was conditional. And when the one you loved no longer offered what you wanted, you threw them away. Her beautiful children had taught her this. 

She was only doing what she felt was the next logical step, in the natural progression for the cycle of betrayal. An eye for an eye, a light for a light, a goddess for a king. It will be natural to wipe _him_ from existence as well. None of this would bring anything back to the way it should be, but it would make her feel better about how things had gone. And that was the only thing that held any importance to her, anymore.

If she was going to be thrown away, she would make sure the world knew how it'd hurt her. If neither of them mattered to the other anymore, she was free to take her anger, her pain, and her fear out on all of them without regret. They’d earned it. They’d hurt her. She would not let them forget. She would not be _forgotten_.

  
  


She wondered if the stars, too, felt their irrelevance so deeply.

  
  


Her dearest counterpart who favored the poisoned dreams that clung to the fringes had used her pain as sutures, and bound them both together while she’d been too weak to keep him at bay. This was not the unity they’d once shared. It was messy, ill-prepared galvanism. It drained them both, but she was always the stronger of the two. She would break free of him and resume her revenge. 

He had tried to talk to her, here. Ask her questions about what she’d gone through, and what she’d done. She had refused to feed him anymore than she already was.

The awful, choking, beating womb they now shared was ripped open from the outside. Black so cold it _burned_ sloshed into the wound. 

Yet another abomination, this one of Soul and Life and Void, ripped them apart from each other’s bleeding essences. 

They would be free. She would have been free. But the Nightmare King _clung_ to her, even once they were apart, and forced her eyes open to behold the gangly little shade. 

Its form burst lashing tendrils of stinging, draining Nothingness, and it struck her. Somewhere behind them, so far away, she swore she saw a writhing sea of restless children. Not quite unified, but shared in the pain felt within this one all the same. 

It struck again, and again, and it would not stop until she was no more. 

-

The Pale King had a moment where, in all his divine creative power, he wasn’t sure how to hew the vessel’s shell back together. They’d burst right out of it in a sudden and violent parody of a molt. Would the remains be too small for them if they returned?

... Why would they _return_ ? Won't the shade simply return to the abyss, anyway? What fretting nonsense ran through his head _now,_ of all times, after a lifetime of telling everyone he was only sire to one half-spider and one _object._

In a shimmer of essence, the circus tents disappeared. The force of _something_ was enough to render even him briefly unconscious. 

He awoke among the bleak rock face of Hallownest’s crown. There were runes here, and appallingly, one of _her_ remaining statues that he hadn't yet knocked down. He hoped it was the last one, as he consigned the Old Light to her final death with a burst of soul force. 

He turned around, and felt a little _snap!_ under his foot. Shellwood. Oh, he was definitely going to have to make up for that. 

The realization made him whirl around in search, and he saw Hornet lying in the rubble some ways away. He approached her quickly, checking for injury. A sigh escaped him when he found none. 

He was halted from movement by the inane instinct that he was maybe not _allowed_ to do the next logical thing. Quickly compartmentalizing that, he picked up his daughter, holding her safely to him in all four arms. 

More movement caught his eye from the side.

The vessel awoke, abruptly stirring from a rock they were propped against. 

No other vessel had been able to _will_ itself back. No other vessel had ever possessed the strength of will to force its shade back together into its holy shell once split. For the rest, a split had been permanent death. 

Though, he now saw how it was possible. His nature, and the nature of his Root, coursed through them without a doubt, strong as anything.

And it appeared they _had_ molted at the opportunity, after all. They were noticeably larger than they'd been, their shell once again the deepest black to contrast the pure white of their mask. He approached them, quiet and unhurried, utterly unsure of where to start.

-

The vessel was looking up. There was, in fact, another void, high up, maybe even farther than the abyss. The sight of it left it dumbstruck. Not for the size of it, but for the way the blackness was so proudly _marred_ with small pinpricks of light. Hundreds upon thousands of them, more than even it could hope to one day count. The blemishes came in different sizes and intensities, clustered in some places, and lonely in others. Speckling an otherwise perfect emptiness, lending it patterns and shapes and personality.

They found it beautiful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my notes for this chapter just call him "the gradiance" and my whole time writing was spent scrambling to describe the gradiance as literally everything but the gradiance
> 
> story's not technically over yet, but i still wanna thank you all. this was actually my first fanfic, like, ever, (even tho i somehow started and finished another since,) and the response was more than what i could have ever hoped for. ive had a rough year, beginning way before we ALL started having a rough year, and found hollow knight at the exact right time to help keep me sane. i had no other outlet for the love and theories and speculation i had in me, so, i thought i'd quit lurking and take up writing for the first time since i was a kid. straight up, i'd almost forgotten how kind strangers could be. thank you all, so much. the things youve told me, and the fact that people are liking something i made, have all made me happier than i've been in a good while. 
> 
> love ya
> 
> edit: idk why the spacing is so weird here but i got the thing to do the picture so thats enough for me


	14. "Hear Ye" or "The One Where They Party"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. Welcome to the Queen's Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you

The ballroom had been dusty for a long, long time. All furniture had been covered in white sheets by a king who would never use any of it, but was still so concerned with preservation. 

But now the room once again glittered. Flowered vines entered through artfully carved openings in the domed ceiling, the dance floor was polished and sparkled, and large decorations of marble, pale ore, and flora adorned the walls at intervals. And it was once again full of life. Friends and honored guests of the King and Queen populated the ballroom floor, here to informally enjoy the festivities. And, rumor had it, to formally accept the announcement of a secret heir to Hallownest. 

Despite Dryya's best efforts, the secret of a full-blooded royal child had gotten out at the barracks, and spread wildly from there. All were eager to learn of them, and to hear any explanation the King and Queen may have as to why they kept the information hidden until now. 

The Queen confided in the Great Knights that this had, in fact, been the intention. She knew it'd be easier to ask for forgiveness from her Wyrm for the consequences of her writing, and that he'd be unable to find fault with her should the information come out like that. _She_ technically hadn't told anyone a thing. All anyone could prove was that it had been some sort of slip-up with the postage. No one could be blamed for that, nor could anyone fault the voracious appetites for gossip held by their subjects. He wasn't about to be angry with his wife for simply wanting to speak to her child. 

So, some sort of announcement became necessary, and the Queen suggested they host her upcoming ball with that as one pretense. Though the speed at which she'd come up with that solution had _definitely_ caught the suspicion of the King. 

Many were in attendance. Some decked out in formal attire, some not. 

The former Dreamers were here, of course, and all held a place of prestige. Lurien had actually been the very first person to arrive, so as to not get caught in the hallways for conversation by anyone. He'd brought his favored retainer as his guest, had a brief and intensely formal greeting with his king and queen, then relegated himself to standing near the table on the furthest wall until everyone else arrived. The rest of his night was spent dodging a variety of guests that wanted to stop him for conversations about art. His retainer tried to aid in his quest to get enough champagne in him so the conversations he _couldn't_ avoid might be less unpleasant. Everyone seemed to have some sort of opinion on how he was recently pioneering a style the art world had dubbed "dark impressionism".

Monomon showed up next, and then Herrah. Monomon had brought her most trusted assistant as her guest, and Herrah, of course, brought her child. Of the four of them, Quirrel seemed to be the only one who was at all concerned with the propriety of formal attire. Herrah had barely managed to scrape by making sure Hornet didn't show up too sticky with web, or food, or whatever unnameable substance some children were magically able to conjure up whenever they decided it was time to be sticky. 

The Five Great Knights were also in attendance, and they relished the break from duty they got to take in such a swanky setting. It was a little awkward whenever Ogrim or Dryya made eye contact with any of their trainees that were in attendance with their noble parents, but no one dared approach them with any sass. Strict teachers or not, they were still venerated warriors of Hallownest, and would be treated with the utmost respect. Even as the five almost single-handedly drained much of the party's liquor and tiny sandwich supply. 

Ze'mer had shown up with her lover, and the two took the opportunity to go public to the other Knights. The Mantis Lord who had died in the "arson attack" had turned out to be this mantis' father, and was once one of the main forces keeping them apart, for Ze'mer's status to the tribe as an outsider. On top of suddenly losing her parent, the poor woman still had to deal with persecution from her clan for trying to continue her relationship, even after Ze'mer had saved her _life_ in rescuing her from the blaze. 

In the aftermath of the fire, Ze'mer had broken down to Ogrim about their situation. With his help, she begged the queen to grant her love dual citizenship, so to allow her sanctuary in Hallownest. The White Lady agreed without hesitation, and assured her they would both always be welcome to call Hallownest home. Ze'mer now spoke of a future where she would one day retire from knighthood and live out the rest of her days in peace with her beloved. 

Ogrim had not hidden some sadness at the idea, but the other Knights reminded him in short order that they'd _all_ have to pass the torch, someday. They then all mused together on the prospect of taking up hobbies. Dryya found she didn't mind the idea of teaching full time, in the event that old age ever meant she couldn't fight. Isma had her experiments. Hegemol already took some enjoyment in his occasional duties as a school zone crossing guard. 

The five then began with their drinking games, and kept their corner of the room efficiently clear of the more uptight members of the aristocracy.

Another guest of honor, invited at the insistence of the queen for his role in their kingdom's salvation, was the vessel of the Nightmare King. _His_ arrival had quickly set the court on its ear. Whispers rippled all around of a strange foreign king who showed up with his own oddly-dressed musician. Grimm's current form was still some ways off from the next one, so he showed up still pockmarked by scars and stab wounds, and with that gnarly fissure still running down his face. He cut an even more frightening figure than usual, and revelled in everyone's reactions to him just a little. Moreso as he went around trying unsuccessfully to charm whoever he could into accepting a dance. Brumm's instrument added a strange undertone to what the band already played, and they'd been all but forced to adjust their music to create something that sounded harmonious without being outright _ominous._ The Pale King quietly seethed about this addition, much to Grimm's eternal amusement. 

While the party was still getting started, the Queen of Hallownest slipped out of the room, finding the night's most important person sitting alone at a balcony. She placed a hand on their shoulder. 

"The hour has come. You have one final chance to change your mind about this, if you'd like. It is true that names are usually gifted from one being to another, and custom _does_ dictate that outright refusal of a gift is an act of rudeness. But the thing about a gift is that once it is yours, you are free to do whatever you wish with it. Whether you keep it, trade it, or throw it away is your decision to make. And with something so personal as a marker of identity, no one would dare to disrespect that decision."

The vessel put their hand over their mother's, and gave an assuring squeeze. The two had already been over this. 

She nodded, and they followed her back to the party. The vessel stopped short of actually entering the room. She got the attention of the room by clinking a fork to the side of a wine glass until everyone quieted. And the Queen spoke:

"The King and I wish to offer our greetings to you all, and our thanks for your attendance. It is no small blessing that we are now able to spare a moment to breathe, much less one to revel in a happy occasion.

Now, I know you are all anticipating a certain announcement from your trusted sovereigns, regarding the members of our family. An official statement shall be made for the entire kingdom quite soon, but I will take this time to unofficially sate your curiosity in a more relaxed setting. We do, indeed, have one more member among us than our subjects had been made aware of. Their origin is a long, private story, that may only one day be told with the context and safety of the distant past between us and it. But rest assured that they are a full child of your King and Queen, and by our decree, a royal of this realm.

My Wyrm and I have little inclination to ever expire or abdicate, so to consider our child an heir to the throne would be something of a falsehood. Should they choose, they may one day rule alongside us. That is also a discussion for the future. For now, they remain princeling in name, and family beloved in character.

I confess, now, that this gathering celebrates more than the end of the infection, and more than the ongoing reconstruction and improvement of our city. Allow me provide you all with some needed context.

There is a custom held dear to the people of Deepnest, where once a young spider comes of age, they are officially given their name by an important teacher or mentor figure that will be present throughout that spider's life. Though our child carries no blood tie to their culture, they wish to honor this tradition shared with them in joy by their adored younger sibling. The Princess of Deepnest is, in fact, the very figure who has bestowed their name upon them. I do suppose she has been something of a mentor to them, and they will be to her in turn, as siblings often are to each other.

Indeed, we celebrate many things here today. Our health, our progress, our love, and an official naming. Now I have said my piece, and wish you to enjoy the rest of the night at your leisure. And as you do, I bid you to welcome and offer your congratulations to _Hollow_ , your Princeling."

Hollow was met with hushed attention as they entered. So many eyes on them nearly made them hesitate, but they pushed forward to stand by their parents. They'd been told they should bow, at this point, and they remembered to at what felt like the last second. 

They weren't sure if it was Herrah, Ogrim, Hornet, or any of the other Great Knights who cheered and clapped first, but it got loud suddenly enough that it hardly mattered. Those around them followed suit. In truth, the worst reaction they saw was confused polite clapping, sometimes accompanied by private whispering. But the best of them outweighed those by a decent margin. They thought that perhaps it wouldn't be _so_ hard to gain their kingdom's trust, with a little help. 

(Retainers bowed to them now. A lot of people did. That would take some getting used to. They kept trying to bow back. Everyone at the party eventually just accepted this.)

-

_“Hollow!”_

Hornet wasted no time in finding her sibling again as the ball resumed. She’d dodged and weaved around the ankles of various startled party guests to run up to them, and, in a move that the Pale King was certain he’d _never_ get used to witnessing, the vessel-- _Hollow,_ now-- knelt with their arms outstretched to to receive the hug. The king had actually looked away for a second, like it was improper for him to be watching. Everyone around him save for the queen would just assume he was uncomfortable with blatant displays of familiarity. (And there was definitely truth to that.) The White Lady gave him a little nudge, in teasing and in gentle warning. 

Herrah caught up to the rest of the family in an unhurried gait. One advantage she had over her daughter’s unrelenting speed in this particular setting was her ability to part the crowd with one look, allowing her to take the shortest route from point A to point B at any time. The king mused that maybe ensuring the ability to do this was the reason she’d elected to bring her _greatneedle,_ which was strapped over her back as casually as one might wear a tote on a grocery run. Deepnest’s queen did so hate to waste time. He could respect that. 

“Root, Wyrm. I have to say, you’ve really turned out an impressive shindig.” She greeted them, chalice in hand. 

“You speak as though you had doubts in my Lady’s capability to do so,” The king answered first. His Lady greeted Herrah with a polite little bow, which was boldly returned with a small scoff and a half hug. The White Lady blinked, looking charmingly thrown, and stood there clearly trying to calculate if it would be awkward to return the gesture a second too late. The king silenced the nearby whispers with a single glance. 

“Not at all. If I seem surprised, it’s only because what I know of Hallownest has so far painted it in a... less than _festive_ brush.” 

“My parties are famous,” the Lady challenged. 

“And your kingdom’s capital is called the ‘City of Tears’.”

Neither local monarch had a rebuttal for that. Hornet was whispering something to her sibling, quietly chatting up a storm at them. The king had recently been repeatedly forced to understand that he actually knew very little about either of his kids, in terms of how they worked, or even what either child entirely _was_ , and would be. In light of that, he did not immediately dismiss the passing thought that maybe they were actually mutually communicating in some way he could not yet fathom. If they could, then was that a godling thing, or simply a sibling thing? 

“Go easy on them, Hornet. It’s already such a big day for Hollow.” There was no real strength to Herrah's chiding. 

“It’s okay! Hollow’s just shy,” the child nodded, assured in her presumptions in the way only the very young were sure they knew anything. 

The way Hollow’s chin tilted down and to the side a little, though, struck the king as undeniably _embarrassed_. It was all the confirmation anyone could need. 

“I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight, your majesty. Our home is yours to be at ease in, and there is plenty here in the way of refreshments and conversation.” The king told Herrah, comfortable in the formality. 

“Oh? Well, _thank_ you kindly, Wyrm. Are you quite sure you wouldn’t like to chat a bit longer? I’m certain your wife and I would like to know more about your _daring escapade_ at Hallownest’s crown with _both of our children_ somehow in attendance.” The smile in her voice could sufficiently poison him on its own, nevermind the fangs behind it. 

“Ah, yes, I’m sure we could spend a good chunk of the night on the particulars of that journey. The ambiance here is so fitting for a lengthy conversation. Those can be so tricky to navigate getting out of in a public space, though, can’t they? One can hardly run away on their own party, with so many eyes on them. Hypothetically, of course,” his Lady added, voice mellow.

The king consulted a shuffling of his foresight, in a quick moment where base survival instincts commanded him to make sure he’d make it out of this night unscathed. 

“I believe Monomon was looking for you.” He spoke a bit too quickly for it to read as his normal quiet evenness. But by the blessings of some unseen gods he hadn’t yet managed to piss off, it worked. Herrah perked up. 

“Ah--I _did_ promise to go say hi. Hornet, love, you two can play later, come and help your old mother find Teacher.” 

“ ‘Kay. Oh--um, ‘it’s nice to meet you,’ Hollow!” The child recited the proper congratulations, and gave her sibling another quick hug before running off and allowing them to once again stand at full height. Herrah bade the hosting king and queen a quick goodbye for now, and rejoined the party. 

“Such elegant subtlety from our mysterious Pale King.” The White Lady grinned. 

“Remind me, my queen, what Herrah’s _reaction_ to our daughter’s recounting of the affair at Hallownest’s crown was, initially?”

“She had tried to behead you, yes.” His Lady seemed nothing but amused. 

“I do not know if the prospect of offending you by trying to do so again at a party you worked so hard on would be enough to dissuade her. 

“My king speaks with such authority on what might offend me.”

“It would make a mess. You spent hours on the floral arrangements alone.” 

"Ah, true. Ruining them would be a tragedy."

Having gotten her fill of teasing him, the Lady turned to fuss a bit with Hollow’s cloak. It had been tailored just for this occasion, and Hollow was plenty used to keeping their movements measured and acclimating to whatever they’d been dressed in, but the wreath of flowers around their shoulders did shift so easily. All the decoration and finery that’d gone into the outfit as a whole honestly wouldn’t look out of place if they’d thrown Hollow had a _coronation,_ instead. 

What a thought. 

“Perhaps you should try and mingle a bit. Not much of that will be expected of you, but I believe the White Defender and his fellows might like to speak to you again,” the Lady suggested. Hollow’s hands flexed in a minute, restrained flinch. The sort of thing it took the eyes of gods to notice. Neither the king nor queen missed it.

“I promise you, again, he is not upset with you. He only worried for your safety, and you did not cause him any grievous injury. But if guilt still plagues you, perhaps an apology may assuage it.” 

That seemed to convince them, though the split second of hesitance was also noted. Hollow dipped their head in a little bow to their mother and father before heading off, cloak trail dragging behind them. 

The king let out a breath. He hadn’t known he’d been holding it. The Lady appeared to think on her next words. 

“...There is already much in the way of improvement in such a short period of time. Things shall only continue to get incrementally easier.” She didn’t specify, but she didn’t particularly have to.

The king said, “I foresee more change, either way. That much will always be unavoidable.” 

And the queen said, “But betterment, specifically, requires will and action.” 

“Will you relish being wife and mother to a family of works in progress?”

“As opposed to being neither to no family at all? I believe I will.”

“... Conversation so heavy is hardly appropriate for all this festivity.” He shifted slightly.

“You seek to end it before I can ask you in return if you might relish being a husband and father.”

“... That isn’t what I’m doing, exactly. These sorts of things do not come easily to me.” 

“That makes sense. You’ve always been a solitary sort of creature, both Wyrm and King as you are.” 

“... I will, though.”

“Hm?”  
  
“My... new responsibilities. I accept them wholly, for want of what they entail.”

The White Lady hummed. “Perhaps one day you will be able to speak plainly about such things.” 

“Do you _wish_ me to speak plainly?”

“By all means.”  
  
“I love you.”

“...”

The ambiance around them was somewhat tainted by that blasted accordion. The Pale King remembered how _exposed_ he’d felt the day he’d stumbled free from the carcass of his old form, feeling de-fanged and small. But not unsafe. 

“And I love you.”

It’d been an age since the King and Queen of Hallownest had last shared a dance together. Maybe literally. Either way, they were due. 

-

The palace ball would be a lot of firsts for the-- for _Hollow._ The name was a big one, of course. Their first gift, accepted wholeheartedly to be worn as a reminder that they could think, and feel, and hope, and wish. The vessel knew they'd forget, sometimes. But the rest of the time, they would be Hollow. The word for the nature that'd once been obligatory for them was now twisted in on itself to mean something new entirely, reclaimed in pride. It was _theirs_. 

The party itself was another big first. They'd never been expected to interact with-- well, anyone, yes, but they'd also never been expected to interact with any sort of festivity. At best, they'd guard the door to such happy things. But they never felt any loss, for they knew they'd have no idea what to do among a party anyway. This was still true. It was loud here, and few faces were familiar, though they often felt eyes on them. They'd been told if they got overwhelmed, they could take refuge outside on the balcony. The knowledge of an escape route and the explicit permission to use it gave them enough courage to handle more than they thought they'd be able to.

The next "first" was when the Five Great Knights had all exclaimed a loud, enthusiastic cheer at their approach, and when Ogrim, Dryya, and Isma had worked together to pick them up and _hold_ them up in an act of what they knew logically was celebration. In the moment, they still found themself freezing up with the adrenaline response. It still felt odd to want, but they found right then that they wanted very badly not to be dropped.

Hegemol, snickering into a goblet, took pity. "Shh-- Friends! I don't think it's very wise to handle our princeling like that." 

" _The Princeling!_ A new royal child of Hallownest, officially recognized! What a joyous occasion!" Ogrim, even jollier than usual, actually let out a huzzah. The three holding Hollow up followed suit, accompanied by a small tossing and catching of them. Hegemol finally just plucked them by the scruff of their cloak, and placed them back where they'd been standing. Hollow stood momentarily frozen like a spooked shardmite, and tried not to look too discombobulated.

-

Hornet didn't have her needle for the party, even though her mother got to bring _her's_ . Mother said she was grounded for both sneaking out, and running off out of Deepnest without telling anyone. Hornet was currently forbidden any weapons, and much of outside playtime and dessert. But this party was a time-out from the punishment, as her mother told her that Hollow’s naming celebration was too important to miss. That worked out well for Hornet. She needed an outlet after being cooped up in the den so long. And there were so _many_ desserts here. She hoped her sibling got many fun parties like this, so she could keep coming over. 

Besides, it didn't really matter much that she wasn't allowed to bring a weapon. Her father had told her that the big, mean, gooey monster had broken it sometime after she'd struck it in the face. She doesn't remember much after that, until waking up on a stag, cradled in more arms than she expected, and hearing her father murmur things to her sibling that felt solidly like grown-up affairs. 

He'd promised her a new needle, so there was that to look forward to. Her mother promised one too, to be discussed after she was done being grounded. She did not inform either of her parents that the other already planned to get her a new needle. One was fine, but _two?_ She'd be unstoppable. 

She couldn't find Teacher, but she did find a very good snack table. And the princess was nothing if not resourceful in times of hardship. Hornet ate one cruller, then took a small handful and kept herself busy individually encasing them in webbing, to bring back home with her and unwrap later. After all, who knows how long she'd still have to go without dessert? Two more days? _Three?_ It was endless. She had to be clever here. 

Satisfied with her handiwork, she put the desserts back on the table to pick up later. They were clearly already claimed, so it'd be safe to leave them and keep her pockets free.

And no sooner than she did that, she noticed a familiar shape on the dance floor. Different from what she remembered, obviously less sick. He must have had that illness that was going around for a while, but got better. But illness or no, he'd been nasty. And a spider does not forget an enemy. 

Mother had also specifically forbidden her from challenging anyone to fight, because apparently Hallownest bugs thought that was a very rude thing to do at a party. But she could still very well give him a piece of her mind. She stomped over, not quite able to part the crowd with her presence like her mother. 

"Hey! What are _you_ doing here?" She demanded, announcing herself by yanking on his tattered cloak. It got a gratifying startle out of him, before he looked down. His eyes were surprised, and only one color now. She could admit that he'd chosen the better one.

The fancy bugs around them sounded rather frightened about something, whispering as they watched the two. Clearly, they all knew two very dangerous and scary beings in a faceoff when they saw them.

"Oh. Well, hello. You're rather familiar." He crooked his head, slightly. 

"You remember me, I stabbed you. And this is _my sibling's_ party," she declared, projecting her displeasure.

"Ah. The little hybrid of Wyrm and something else ferocious. That was a nasty shock you gave us at the crown, but in _light_ of how it concluded, I ought to thank you." He spoke with no fear or offense. But he also didn't speak to her like some of the other Hallownest bugs did, all slow and dismissive. She allowed herself to relax a bit. 

"For what?"

"Well, you have a sibling, right? I'd been in… something of a disagreement with my own. You and your family helped me… resolve it, when I couldn't by myself." He seemed to have to think on his phrasing. Hornet puzzled. She hadn't remembered seeing anyone else in that awful place.

"Oh. Were you sick?" She asked, for lack of anything else coming to mind.

"Hmm. Yes, I would say that's the gist of it. Do not worry, you'll get no trouble from me here. You have my word." He smiled. It sort of reminded her of Midwife, in the vague sense that pleasant camouflages hiding sharp teeth did. 

"...Good," she nodded decisively. There would be peace. "I like your dancing."

He laughed, pleased. "Why, thank you. I am actually a performer, by trade." He demonstrated this with a little flare of that strange red magic, conjuring the brief shape of a crown in fire. Hornet found this a much better use for it than hucking giant pillars of it at her father. Those who spectated their interaction for whatever reason either flinched at it, or murmured quiet awe. For Hornet's part, she applauded, bouncing a bit. It was polite to show your enthusiasm for performers.

"You make for a much better audience than I expected to find in the Pale Court. I appreciate that." 

"Okay. I _guess_ I'm sorry for stabbing you. But you broke my needle, so we’re even."

Grimm rasped out a laugh, and the spectators seemed to suddenly find it a good idea to quickly disperse. 

-

Herrah had found her friend-slash-favorite fellow member of what they joked was the "Dreamer Support Group". (Lurien had not been amused by the title. That had only encouraged them.) Monomon had been alone for the moment, while her guest-not-her-date was off grabbing some of the _good_ h'ors d'oeuvres before they ran out. Right now, the two traded good news on Herrah's restoration of Deepnest, and the ongoing construction of and plans for Mononon's teaching hospital. 

"--wouldn't the tensile strength of Weaver silk make it too harsh for medical stitching? I've seen it used to cut _glass_."

"Maybe on the soft bits, sure, but we've traditionally used it to patch up broken carapace. The soul-infused stuff mends itself into the shell. Have you ever seen a spider with a splintered exoskeleton?"

"I can't say I'm personally familiar with very many spiders, but that's incredible. If some of your Deepnest healers would be willing to volunteer to our research efforts, I think both our lands would benefit from what we might learn." Monomon stood, tote full of lab notes written in portable tubes of archival acid slung over a shoulder. Herrah eyed it, mulling over the conversation.

"That's something we should discuss later. You know, when I joked about bringing acid with you, I didn't think you'd bring the whole damn library. It's a _party,_ archivist. _Unwind_ for once. Your work will always be there when you return." Herrah admonished, though didn't hold her breath for the advice to ever take.

"It isn't a library, and I _am_ enjoying myself. It's only good practice to bring something to occupy oneself when these sorts of affairs get slow. This is your first Hallownest gala, yes?"

"Of course."

"Allow me to enlighten you on the usual proceedings, then. Nobles from every family line of any particular note will be here, and after so many generations, many of them are involved in some feud or another. Once the drinks have flowed for long enough, someone ends up outing someone else's messy divorce, or bastard child, or ventures in embezzlement or tax fraud. The petty squabbling doesn't matter, but there's always a point where the queen is forced to… ah, what's a good way of putting this?"

"Very gently go batshit on someone?"

"There we go. In particularly dire situations, the king himself may even get involved. And the closer in proximity he is to his worshippers, the more dramatic they tend to get, when all _he_ wants to do is end the situation quickly and quietly. A major duke once broke down sobbing at his feet for, oh, twenty minutes. I don't think they ever socially recovered." 

"Fascinating. What's it like living in a society where the higher rungs of the caste system are still socially living a century or two behind everyone else?" 

"About as dissociative as you'd expect. I believe the royal family still takes their tea the traditional way, while the rest of us just pop the kettle on for a minute and go on with the day."

"I have in fact been a guest at one of Root's tea parties. It's all loose leaf. Good stuff, and she left me a tin, but I have no clue where in the hell I'm meant to find an infuser. I've had to just strain it." 

"I'll point you to an antique shop the next time you're in town."

Herrah snickered. 

"I suppose we can't fault them too much for being immortal," Monomon continued. "You know the way one's grandparent suddenly learns of all the emergent technology that's already second nature to their grandchildren? Imagine living that way forever. Compared to how long they've already existed, there must be something new to adjust to every time they go outside."

Herrah hummed, attention caught on the dance floor. "Mhm, yeah, it must be so _difficult_ to be _god_. Hey, is that a court magician over there that my daughter's found?"

Monomon looked over. Paused in the way of someone processing quite a bit of information.

"...In a sense. Ah… Hm. Tell me, Herrah, do Deepnest children ever tell campfire stories about the Grimm Troupe?"

"What does that--oh, I see. Alright. Hold my beer."

"You're drinking rosé." Herrah had already handed off her chalice to Monomon, and was moving towards the commotion in deliberate strides. She had no problem with the idea of being one of the guests that'd provide Monomon with a little entertainment that night. 

-

Hollow was eventually caught up on the current affairs of the Great Knights. They hadn't expected so much jovial overlapping chatter from the five, and it came so _easily_ between them. Hollow sort of enjoyed watching them, and pondered on the idea that this must be how a group of people spoke to each other when they'd repeatedly been through hell together. It was no small honor to be included. And the five were obviously trying to make them and Ze’mer’s guest _feel_ included. Hollow didn't regret quitting the prospect of knighthood, but they felt a little better at the idea that this was the sort of group that would have trained them if they hadn't. And speaking of quitting, no one seemed to bear any ill will towards Hollow for it. 

"--the kid looks at you while everyone's applauding, white as a sheet, and says 'Isn't that the new recruit?' I think she was the one who started that food fight in front of you. I say, 'They've obviously quit, if that hasn't been made clear.' She hadn't noticed me standing nearby and nearly jumped out of her _shell_ . Then she just looks at her duchess mother, or whatever, and goes, 'You can _do_ that?'" Dryya recounts, to the laughter of the other knights. 

"But really, we're all glad everything seems to be working out for you," Isma offered. "Pardon me for saying, but you didn't strike me as the particular _warrior_ sort, when we met."

"Le'mer gets told the same of herself at every turn, no?" Ze'mer quipped. 

"Well, fair point. Glass houses, I guess."

Hollow watched Ogrim's claw on his goblet. It didn't take him too long to notice.

"Hmm? ...Oh, ah, I'm afraid I can't tell-- and I see you _have_ molted since we last saw each other, but, uh, are you sure you're of age to--? Oh-- No? Not the wine? Then what...? ...Oh. I think I see. I assure you there are no hard feelings, recr--ah, your highness. I do not know what sorts of things were troubling you, though the queen did give me some idea. I can only support your decision to do what might make you happier." Ogrim promised. Hollow still fretted, though none could see it. But continuing to look at Ogrim's wrist seemed to get the point across. 

"Worried for _me_ ? I assure you, it'd take things a thousand times more grievous than a minor _sprain_ to lay me low! Or _any_ of us, for our strength outclasses all. To the Five!" He hooted, raising his goblet. The call was responded in kind by the others in attendance.

"And to you, our princeling," Dryya added, gesturing forward with her drink. "It's wonderful to meet you."

Congratulations went around. Hollow thought they were getting rather close to that "too much of good too much of anything" threshold, but found that this sort of overwhelming wasn't the usual scary sort. This was better. Less "too much of good," and more of a "good kind of too much." Another first.

-

"Look at him out there. I daresay he looks likely to wither away at any moment."

"The Watcher will survive the night. I have foreseen it."

"At least _talk_ to him. Ask him how he is. He thinks so highly of you." 

At his queen's urging, the king agreed somewhat reluctantly to go rescue Lurien from the bombardment of aristocrats that had all decided they needed to share their artistic opinions and criticisms with him. His measured stride toward their Watcher left no room for anyone to misinterpret his intentions. The lesser nobility all bowed the second they noticed him, and stepped back to return to their circles and leave their King to discuss whatever matters he had with Lurien. 

The king just stood in front of him for a second. Lurien held a drink. It was water. 

"Watcher. I hope you are enjoying your night in the palace."

Lurien had stalled for that amount of time, in a manner that spoke to the king's ancient predatory instincts as a "freeze" style of defense mechanism. At his words, the Watcher bowed low himself.

"My king, yes, of course, it is lovely, all of it." 

The sound of a long, trickling splatter onto marble rang out in the fantastic acoustics of the ballroom before Lurien realized he was spilling his drink all over the floor next to him. He abruptly stood ramrod straight again to stop it. Both just stared at the puddle.

"...Ah… I can-- I--. I have retainers." Lurien said. 

"... That's. Good. At your tower, I presume." 

"…… Yes."

Someone that did in fact wear the Watcher's crest came around to clean it almost immediately, needing no prompting. They hummed while they worked. Lurien and the King remained silent for a long moment of that.

"Thank you again for inviting me. It is no small honor to be in your presence, sire, I dropped everything to come." He blurted finally, making as if to bow again and stopping himself partway.

The Pale King willed himself to relax some, as he spoke. "Your presence is appreciated. Even putting aside your prior agreement to Dream for your kingdom, you're an important figure among our people."

"Oh, no, I only do what I must, for love of this kingdom, and our people, and you-- sire."

"That is also appreciated, Lurien."

"I mean-- That is to say-- my love for the kingdom and for your person to be of an equivalent nature-- and I mean of your reign and luminescence, of course--"

"Thank you, Lurien."

"And I meant nothing for your _person_ directly _\--_ though I am sure there's much to love in that as well-- not that I presume _anything_ about your person, majesty, only--"

“Thank you, Lurien.”

“Well, of course, there’s little _not_ to love--Ah, I’m an-- I am an artist, you see, and I spend a lot of time with-- analyzing beauty, and I only mean to say I know great beauty when I _see_ it, being Watcher, and… you--ah… are... much to. Watch."

"My wife is looking for me."

"Yes, sire."

The Pale King withdrew from the area. He walked with neither hurry nor meander back to the White Lady's side. She was waiting for him within earshot, and stood looking the absolute goddamn picture of serenity. She held out a goblet to him in one hand. He took it, and drank without hesitation. 

The king spoke after a good few seconds of silence. "Tell me, gentle Queen, is it by grudge borne against me that you decide to act, or is it only boredom that drives you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, loyal husband." She hummed, glowing. 

-

"Pardon me," Herrah said in that sort of tone that gave you no choice. The nightmare thing looked up at her, from where he'd been entertaining Hornet with some little fireworks display of spellcraft. Hornet greeted her mother, explaining with some excitement that her new acquaintance was from the circus. 

"That's very nice. Why don't you go say hi to Teacher over there? I bet she'll have some gross new story for you about the acid jellyfish."

" _Cool!_ " The child hurried off. The Wyrm's creepy guest regarded Herrah. 

"So she's yours?"

"That's right."

"She's adorable. They always are at that age, aren't they?"

"Hm. At a glance, you don't strike me as the sort that likes children."

"I could say the same thing about you," he eyed the needle at her back, pointedly, and held out a hand. "Miss…?"

"Herrah." She took it in her own, and didn't so much as flinch at the way his shell nearly _scorched_ her's when he brought it up for a kiss. His lack of apprehension was at least refreshing, even if it only stemmed from his status as some unfathomable demon.

"A pleasure. I am Grimm, master of a travelling circus troupe of some renown." He responded in turn.

"I believe I've heard of it. And I believe I've heard about your role in a certain _incident,_ regarding my daughter at the top of Hallownest." 

"A misunderstanding, only." He retracted his hand once Herrah's claws started leaving marks.

"I'm _sure."_

"Hm. Would you care for a dance? Skill on the ballroom floor is best displayed with a partner, after all." Something about the question struck her as a _threat_ . Oh, how fun. The queen of Deepnest already _tangoed_ with a god once in the past, and had come out the victor. She would do so again if needed.

Before she could answer, Hornet ran back. She held some sort of honey candy in her hand, and nibbled away at it. She stood between her mother and Grimm. She pointed at him. 

"Teacher says you're the bogeyman."

Both adults stood silent.

"... That is one thing I've been called, yes." His tone was colored with amusement.

"Hmph. My mother is scarier than you."

Herrah bit down a laugh. Grimm looked between them, seeming to be doing the same. Hornet continued.

"I am, too."

"Is that right?"

"Spiders are the scariest."

"You heard the girl," Herrah chimed in. "We're scarier than you."

He did laugh, now. The strange jester-king sounded like he ate only barbed wire and dry charcoal.

"Well, I certainly can't argue with one so fearless. Perhaps the two of you could give me some pointers, then." He spoke directly to Hornet. She looked at her mother for permission. Herrah just shrugged, letting her daughter answer for herself. The child chewed thoughtfully on her candy for a second.

"...Okay," she decided. "But be cool about it."

"Oh?" He managed, mirthful.

"Those are the terms. Be cool, Grimm." Herrah helped again. She found she was having some issue with the idea of keeping Hornet grounded after tonight.

Grimm answered with a flourishing bow to the child. "As you wish." 

Herrah was glad to learn that not all self-proclaimed god-kings were as _boring_ as the Pale Wyrm.

-

"The bogeyman," Quirrel stated with no small amount of amusement. " _That's_ what you came up with on the spot, when prompted to find the best way to explain the god of the Nightmare Realm to a child."

"My dearest assistant, I can allege with full conviction that I am neither wrong, nor entirely sober."

He snorted, and popped a tiny sandwich whole into his mouth.

-

Whispers were to be expected. Such an abrupt change in the leadership dynamic that was supposed to be held by ageless, immovable figures would dominate the news cycle for quite some time. There may be a few people out there who would _never_ get used to it. There would always be those who would spout conspiracy theories about anything and everything having to do with their government. That brand of person would have their attention on the White Lady's _child_ , now. She had expected all of this, and was prepared to act as a line of defense against all that talking getting out of hand on a larger scale. Her work began at that very party, not even a few hours after Hollow's introduction. 

Some loud mouthed bug of old money was already spreading dissent, and putting out feelers to other nobles for support. They came with all sorts of "reasonings". Like how the strange new "royal" shared none of the King's attracting light, and none of the Queen's outgrowth, so therefore they couldn't be related. Perhaps they were some other sort of deity, come as a usurper, and there was more strife going on in the castle than anyone realized. And wasn't it odd that it was only the _one_ child? Wouldn't a goddess of life and fertility bear many seeds, if she ever had her own children? And really, how could the two most perfect beings in Hallownest, the paragons from which society formed its ideals and expectations, produce a thing that could not even _speak_ to them? Who knows what _else_ they could not do! A true child of the gods should be splendid, elegant, faultless, and so many, many things that they had evidently _refused_ to display in the hour since everyone learned they existed. So many opinions on what the Princeling _should_ be.

That was the funny thing about mortals. If they spent too much time by themselves, thinking only _of_ themselves, they tended to _forget_ themselves. There was little other explanation as to why anyone would have such lack of awareness, to believe themselves _authorities_ on the choices their very _gods_ made in the privacy of their own home. 

The White Lady needed little to announce her presence. Her own gentle glow was not the entrancing light of the Pale Wyrm's, but it commanded awe in its own right. She offered a greeting to the chattiest detractor that she could pinpoint through the many branches of gossip, and their posse. She asked this bug how they enjoyed the party. They were well-mannered, and they were respectful, to her face. 

The White Lady often spoke of many things around her subjects. They would listen, for the wisdom of a tree so eternal was a thing sought after, no matter how many generations passed. She spoke now of celebration. She spoke of happiness, and motherhood. She spoke of loyalty. She spoke of the everlasting nature of the gods, and by proxy, the brief, easily snuffed nature of mortals, and of their dearly held statuses. How effortlessly such things could be made and unmade.

The queen noticed the state of the dessert table, where there was an odd cluster of web casings in a small pile near the crullers, looking like some kind of odd h'ors d'oeuvre platter in its placement. The queen saw them, and decided then to speak of her dear friend, the queen of Deepnest.

"On the subject of children, all of court knows my king to have a daughter, who now stands a proud beacon of alliance between our kingdoms, and symbol of hope for the future. Indeed, Deepnest has done much for us as a friendly relation. We owe them our good faith in turn, do we not? Prithee, your lordship, be open to invitations to share in their culture, as my child the Princeling has asked we do for them here tonight in celebration." She gestured daintily to the table.

The marquis eyed the plate of mysterious web casings. They had no idea what they were, but the implication of what they were meant to do was there. And it would be shockingly rude to refuse the Queen, and in front of so many people.

The marquis picked up one of the cocoons, eyed the queen once more with a tight smile, and slowly and stiffly bit into it. It appeared to be quite the effort to try and bite though. And by the strain on their face, not a very pleasant one. She imagined it must be like trying to gnaw through a knitted pillowcase that'd once been dunked in glue. And they were in it too deep to give up now. They chewed through it. The marquis' friends and acquaintances watched on. Pride would not let them fall gagging.

The queen nodded. She said, "I trust you to be my loyal subject. Do be careful that you remain as such," and walked off.

-

Nearby, Mononon was trying very hard not to absolutely lose it. And on her other side, the Queen of Beasts shared a dance with the King of Nightmares, unheeding of the poorly hidden cowering of the surrounding members of polite society. This was a fantastic party.

-

Hollow did end up heading out to the balcony later that night, for a second to breathe in the quiet. It had been a good night, but a long one. They still didn't quite understand how they were expected to act. Their normal predisposition to be silent and stationary when they had nothing else to go on didn't seem to bother anyone, at least. 

They knew they were meant to go see and acknowledge people, so they had. They'd gotten a lot of congratulations, of course. The Teacher had been happy for them, and wished them well. Herrah had apologized for the delay in such an important ceremony in their life, and promised Deepnest would always be a welcoming place to them so long as they were family. Even the Nightmare King had shown up and given them his best wishes, though Hollow kept that particular conversation short, and hoped that they hadn't been _too_ rude in their refusal of a dance. Lurien had apparently gone home early.

They leaned over the railing to rest on their arms. They'd climbed all of Hallownest and still come out with enough energy to fight, but somehow tonight left them exhausted. Their new room was much bigger, with one side that was more window then wall. Their nail was mounted by the door as decoration, now, and they were free to add anything else at all to fill the room up and make it theirs. A vase for flowers had been a good start, but it was still such a _daunting_ task. They decided to be content for now with the thought that they’d soon get to rest in their own bed.

Measured footsteps caught their attention, and they straightened to full height in an instant. Perhaps that habit may never break. They turned, and saw the Pale King had come to join them. He stopped moving for a moment, and regarded them. He only continued when they visibly relaxed a bit, and then stood by them at the railing.

"... Your mother insisted we share credit for tonight, though most of the planning and guest list had been her. Truthfully, I'd only been responsible for ordering the catering." He spoke without preamble. 

There was silence. Silence had been what they came out here for, but, this silence felt… less than ideal, somehow. Like more should be happening, or someone should leave. Was that rude? Proper social interaction had so many _rules_. They wondered if there was some sort of course they could take to study them. 

"I do hope," he startled them slightly when he finally spoke again, "That you're… enjoying tonight. If you have any strong feelings about everything, I cannot sense them."

The vessel kept still, when the king watched it. _Hollow_ remembered to nod.

"Good." He nodded himself, and looked back out over the courtyard.

Hollow knew the king well. They grew up at his side. They knew that he did not like to speak so much, but when something weighed on him, he seemed to have little other outlet for it. He'd never hidden his emotions or troubles from them, for he'd thought them to lack a mind to absorb any sensitive information. They must know him better than anyone, save for his wife. They wondered if he knew that. They knew he would speak again.

"... Do not presume me to believe that tonight shall make up for everything. I know it does not."

They were right to assume it was guilt that brought him out, then. They did not know if it was guilt over their upbringing, or the circumstances of their birth. 

Perhaps they should still be angry. They had been so, so angry. They had not _liked_ feeling that way. 

But both of them seemed to understand how much Hollow had been robbed of. Both had seen the horrors he'd wrought at the abyss. Both knew that Hollow was to be a sacrifice. There should be no forgiving all of that. 

It might be another flaw of theirs, then, illogical and self-destructive as the rest, that they loved their father so. They lamented what they'd lost, yes. But they hadn't known how much better life could be, and maybe still didn't get the full scope of that. Perhaps sometime down the line once they felt more like an entire person, they'd find it in themself to be bitter. Their only experience with hate had been the bombardment of it from the chaotic mind of the Radiance. It had been horrifying. It had been sad. _She_ had been so sad.

The Radiance and the Pale King both had a death toll on their hands. But Hollow could not look at her, screaming and struggling within that pulsing ventricle, and feel hatred for her. Someone who personally lived the horrors of the infection might have. _They_ might have, in some alternate time where the Nightmare King had not acted, and Hollow had been forced to complete the seal, share a mind with her, and contain the entire infection within one body. Maybe then, after an eternity of torment, they would have hated her. 

But if they'd hated anything in that moment, it was the feeling of ripping someone apart with the strength of their very essence, though they did not regret doing it. She had made her own death necessary, for the good of the world. Even if it was justice, they did not hate her as she ceased to _be_ in front of them, even as they felt how much she wanted them dead. She had scared them, and that sensation would haunt them, likely forever. They didn't want to feel the way she had. They didn't want to ever feel that way towards their own father. Even if they should. 

All they wanted was to move forward to better days. The king and queen _wanted_ to gift them a future they never could have dreamed of. Hollow wanted to take it. They wanted to _live_. They had faith, now. Everyone would work to do better.

"I apologize for sending you away to the barracks. It is only the most recent injustice I have forced upon you of many, but the Five told me much of your time with them. They spoke of how, when given the chance to draw your nail when it was not ordered of you, you would always show reluctance." The king said at length.

Hollow was embarrassed. This was becoming a familiar emotion. They'd trained so hard, growing up. They were _good_ with their greatnail. But on the subject of hating things, wielding it against another came very close. 

"... I would say you've inherited your mother's compassion, but even she can be ruthless. Neither of us _relish_ violence, per say, but we were no strangers to it in our earlier days. Your apparent kindness, then, is something all your own. It's a fine quality. I am sorry it had been so long suppressed, and for the considerable hand I played in allowing that."

Hollow only nodded. Kindness was a nice way of putting it. They weren't sure if they'd tell him, if they could, that a lot of what stayed their hand was actually fear. Fear came to them so easily. Fear had come _first_. But they had always acted in the face of it, for the sake of doing what they had to, for their notion of loyalty. Whether it was combat, or travel, or responding to chit-chat at a party.

They were tired. It'd be improper to lean against the railing again. They did it anyway. 

The king watched, but did not comment. He didn't stare for long. Likely because he now realized they could form an opinion on staring. 

"... Hollow," the name fit somewhat oddly in his mouth, though that hadn't deterred him. He did seem to struggle with what to say next. Hollow figured it was probably because he wanted to say _everything_. The Pale King hated loose ends. It upset him when things were left untidy, and couldn't be efficiently mended with one solution. Messes were meant to be cleaned. 

But there was no quick remedy for this. They could only work at this sort of thing slowly, bit by bit, and only if grounded in love. Like he was doing with his marriage, and with his kingdom. And hopefully with himself, one day.

"... It is good to meet you," their father went with, finally. He escaped back to the party soon afterwards. Hollow stayed outside a little longer, and daydreamed about the night sky.

-

_Royal correspondences are archived for posterity. A series of letters were occasionally exchanged between the Hive depths and the White Palace, penned some years into the post-Infection era. One such set reads thus:_

Sibling, 

I see little reason why I should be invited at all. The Great Knights are confidants of yours, not of mine. I would know no one there, and I have already had my fill for the year of the boorish aristocracy that litters these sorts of events at every turn. If you only seek to have me there as a barrier between you and all of them to make the situation less awkward for you, remember that my needle is lethal, and I'd feel no sadness in a weakling's demise.

Training goes well, as usual. I see no point in interrupting it if I do not have to. I will be visiting the White Palace in a few weeks time, anyway. You are quite familiar with the routine by now. 

Regards,

Hornet, Princess of Deepnest

-

Honored sister, 

The Great Knights are less strangers to you than you would try to convince me. I find myself obliged to remind you of their frequent visits to the castle in our youth, and the way they'd always pick you up and coo over you like a baby gruz, when you had been no bigger than one. I would also like to remind you that, if not for that final well-placed bite to Ogrim's face in your early adolescence, they likely would not have ever stopped. 

Allow me to assuage your worries about the threat of interacting with any of the noble class. Ze'mer's wedding will be a small affair, meant for only friends and family. You needn't resort to raising your needle on my account. Though, you can certainly bring it with you, if you'd like. I'm sure Dryya would appreciate the offer of a sparring match in the event that she starts to get teary.

Jesting aside, it would mean much to the Five if you would consider attending, and it'd mean much to me, as well. A break from training would do you no harm, as you've certainly proven yourself to have inherited the King's penchant for working until ragged in the name of diligence.

And, of course, if you wish to adequately make your displeasure with me known at my audacity to ever compare you to our father, you would be able to do so easily, in person at the venue. 

Perhaps you could bring back some honey, while you're at it. Herrah has informed me that you get plenty of the good kind from the Hive Queen’s personal stash. Hadn’t I, or anyone in your assortment of mother figures, once taught you that it’s nice to share? 

With love,

Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who expected that i'd just killed grimm outright, im sorry for scaring u
> 
> anyway since youre still here imma let yall know im Not emotionally done with this au and have already started writing like 3 drabbles set here that i might post to a collection??? im not sure yet. my fairy tale ass loves a standalone story
> 
> thank you for reading!


End file.
